


The House of Slytherin

by kildeer



Series: Scorpius Malfoy and the Breaking Statue [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Academia, Albus and Scorpius are huge nerds, Divination, Dreams and Nightmares, Everyone has daddy issues, F/M, Friends!Albus/Scorpius, Gen, Hagrid has a flying rabbit, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts Houses, Hogwarts Professors, M/M, Original Character(s), Slytherin Albus, Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy, Wizarding education reforms, and they don't care about Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5857549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kildeer/pseuds/kildeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy begin their first year at Hogwarts.  Along with the normal challenges of school both of them must contend with the fame (and infamy) of their fathers and what it really means to be Slytherin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The first cry was heard just as the large clock in the entrance hall struck four. The clean metallic music of the ancient machine passed from wall to wall through the great house, heeded predominantly by the small army of house elves for whom the four sustained chimes were their call to rise and begin the day’s work. In the servants’ quarters they were well out of earshot of their sleeping masters, yet out of habit or perhaps sleepiness they kept their voices low and their words few as they made their small beds and began filing into the kitchen and various storehouses to start preparing breakfast. Within the vast corridors and empty rooms of Malfoy Manor Draco was the only one to hear the small distressed voice. 

His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness when he opened them; his wife found it impossible to sleep with any kind of light in the room. The silence of the house seemed oppressive and thick as he strained to listen, unsure if he had heard the cry or dreamt it. A moment later it came again, louder this time, and he eased himself out of the large four-post bed, moving carefully so as not to disturb Astoria. Once he had put on his dressing gown and slippers he walked to the tapestry which concealed a passage to the nursery. Although it had never happened, he always worried that his sudden appearance from the passage would frighten his son, so he made a point of calling softly to him a few seconds before he stepped into the room.

“I’m coming, Scorpius!”

“Dad!”

Draco had emerged from behind another tapestry and taken a full two steps into the nursery before he realized that Scorpius had spoken and was brought up short. A handful of iron star-shaped lanterns hung from the ceiling, and by their dim flickering light he could see where Scorpius had pulled himself up, still crying, his tiny hands gripping the bars of his crib as his legs tried to support him on the unsteady feather mattress.

“It’s me,” Draco said as he crossed the room.

“Dad,” Scorpius repeated, turning his tear-streaked face up to Draco, his hair like moon-white wings folded to his head.

Draco blinked, his stomach performing another flip at the sound of the word.

“I’m here,” he said as he bent over the crib. Scorpius reached up for him and latched onto his clothes like a small climbing animal, his head falling wearily onto his father’s chest as Draco held him close. Draco closed his eyes and patted Scorpius’s back gently as the boy emitted a small chirping hiccup.

“It’s alright,” he murmured.

Scorpius sat up in his arms suddenly, swaying a little as his neck worked to support his head, his large eyes bright with tears that matted his eyelashes into golden points, his nose red and running. He hiccupped again, his whole body jerking, and rubbed his tiny balled fists into his eyes, his neck gradually losing its balance and tipping his forehead against Draco’s face. Draco dipped his chin to kiss him and unconsciously began to rock from one foot to the other. Scorpius lowered his hands and pulled his head back to look at Draco again.

“Daddy,” he said, his voice clear and strangely emphatic. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had heard anything so wonderful. Aside from nighttime crying Scorpius had always been a quiet baby, watchful and composed even in moments of joy, his smiles small and his laughter rare. As far as Draco knew no one had heard him make any other sound.

“Did you have a bad dream?” 

“Yah!” the boy said at once, his eyes wide, and Draco had the baffling impression that Scorpius understood every word, that they were talking to each other although it didn’t seem possible.

“What was it about?” Draco asked.

His son’s invisible eyebrows shot up and his voice came forth in a rush of incomprehensible babble, painstakingly articulated and accompanied by a small array of exaggerated facial expressions, his arms lifting and his fingers spreading wide, making his hands look like small white stars. Draco walked over to the tall windows and pulled aside the curtains to let in the moonlight and then sat down in the rocking chair, which had been in the Manor nursery since time immemorial, all the while watching and listening to his little son in wonder. Whatever Scorpius had seen in his sleep must have been very frightening; he was starting to cry again, his cheeks becoming chafed from wiping away tears, and the love Draco felt was so overwhelming it almost gave him vertigo.

“Scorpius,” he said quietly, “listen to me.”

The child looked up at Draco expectantly, swaying a little as he sniffed and tried to sit up straight.

“I’m sorry you had a bad dream, but I want you to know that nothing terrible will ever happen to you,” he paused, watching his son’s face, “do you know why?”

“Why?”

Draco swallowed, working to keep his voice steady.

“Because I’m going to keep you safe.”


	2. Sorted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus tries to make a stand and Scorpius does some truth-telling.

Albus still couldn’t quite believe that he had actually arrived at Hogwarts. He was going to climb the staircases and talk to the portraits, learn more about magic and live in the Gryffindor tower just as generations of his family had. Even as he swelled with pride at the thought there was still a weight in his stomach that he couldn’t quite ignore, one that even his father’s reassurance hadn’t been able to dispel. The young woman holding the magical hat introduced herself as Professor Robins and the Sorting began. 

They stood alphabetically in pairs as the Sorting Hat worked its way through the A’s, then the B’s. Albus couldn’t help but notice that every time a child was sorted into Slytherin a strange hush fell over the Great Hall. The professors seemed to be making a conscious effort to clap just as enthusiastically for the new Slytherins as they did for everyone else and several of the students joined them, but every time the Sorting Hat cried out “Slytherin!” the face of the child beneath would fall. Albus looked over to where James sat at the Gryffindor table but he was busy talking and joking with his friends, pausing to clap politely for other houses or to whoop and cheer for a new Gryffindor. 

From where he stood Albus could see the back of Scorpius Malfoy’s head, his white-blonde hair unmistakable. He noticed that the girl Malfoy had been paired with was standing as far to the side as she could and seemed to glance at him out of the corner of her eye, as though he were an unpredictable animal she didn’t dare look at directly. It suddenly occurred to Albus that the whole thing was horrible.

As they moved closer to the front of the Hall his anxiety and doubt ballooned within him. James had caught his eye and smiled, giving him a thumb’s up, and Rose had waved at him from her place near the end of the line. He was grateful for their support and tried to focus on taking deep breaths to steady his nerves.

“Malfoy, Scorpius!”

A rush of whispering voices scattered throughout the Hall as his name was called and several students who hadn’t been paying attention to the ceremony now sat up straighter, craning their necks to watch. Scorpius held his head high as he climbed the steps, looking confident as though he hadn’t noticed their reaction to his name, but Albus noticed that his hands were clenched into fists. Scorpius sat down on the chair and seemed to take a deep breath, staring straight ahead. The hat was lowered and cried out _“Slytherin!”_ the second it touched him.

The crestfallen looks on the faces of the other new Slytherins were nothing compared to Scorpius’s face now. The calm, confident expression he had worn a moment before crumbled. Renewed whispers and muttering had greeted the announcement, the applause seemed even hollower than it had before, and Scorpius hadn’t gotten up from the chair. He looked over at Professor Robins and Albus was just close enough to hear him murmur, “Put it back on.”

There was an awkward pause as Robins hesitated. The scant applause had died away as the students and other teachers realized that Malfoy wasn’t getting up. It was obvious that Scorpius was trying not to beg and the desperation in his eyes was becoming more pronounced by the second. Professor Robins looked uncomfortable and sympathetic as she glanced up at the Headmistress, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head, her expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” said Professor Robins quietly.

Terrible pain and anger came to Scorpius’s face and he looked as though he were about to cry. He stood up slowly, his eyes darting a little, unwilling to meet any of theirs as his cheeks reddened. Suddenly he turned and kicked the chair as hard as he could. It flew back and crashed against the raised stone dais where the teachers sat. As the Great Hall filled with cries of shock and indignation Scorpius turned on his heel and ran, not to the Slytherin table, but down the long center aisle and out of the room, terrified students jumping out of his way. No one tried to stop him as he left the Great Hall. 

It took several seconds for the commotion to die down. The chair was retrieved and repaired, the professors bent their heads together in whispered conversation, and the Headmistress was forced to stand and clap her hands sharply to restore silence. Five more students were sorted and Professor Robins looked extremely relieved when none of them were put in Slytherin.

“Potter, Albus!”

The reaction to his name was very different. Excitement rippled through the Great Hall, hundreds of faces watching him with eager smiles and wide eyes. The unfairness of it was almost unbearable as he climbed the steps. People had always spoken of his father’s triumph over Voldemort as a victory for acceptance and equality, as something that had changed the Wizarding world forever, and Albus realized that he had been thinking of Hogwarts as an embodiment of that idea, a utopia where the old prejudices were put aside. He sat on the chair and tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head and he could hear its voice in his mind.

_Another scion of the great Harry Potter, I see. Hogwarts is honored to have you._

Albus thought about Scorpius and felt a stab of resentment. Would it have been easier for him to accept being placed in Slytherin if the hat had taken a moment to welcome him? He felt the Sorting Hat move as though it had sensed his thoughts.

_Interesting, your brother was an obvious Gryffindor, but like your father you are harder to place…_

Abruptly, the anxiety which had plagued Albus ever since he received his Hogwarts letter vanished. He stared straight ahead and did his best to ‘think’ to the hat.

_Slytherin._

There was a pause.

_That is your choice?_

_Yes. Put me in Slytherin._

_“Slytherin!”_

The hat’s voice rang out through the Hall and, as Albus had predicted, the mood changed dramatically. He looked around the room and felt a rebellious thrill to see the expressions of confusion, even dismay, on faces that had been gazing up at him in admiration. The surprise was so great that at first no one clapped at all, and when the applause did come it died away almost at once.

Professor Robins had removed the hat from his head and was looking nervous but Albus smiled and stood up. He walked straight to the Slytherin table and greeted his new housemates with all the enthusiasm he could muster, introducing himself (unnecessary, but he felt he should) and leaning across the table to shake hands. Most of the other Slytherins returned his greetings with bewildered, startled expressions, but some of them, particularly the other first years, seemed grateful and smiled back at him. 

It wasn’t until he had settled in and the Sorting ceremony resumed that Albus forced himself to look across the Hall at the Gryffindor table and met James’s eyes immediately. His heart sank. His older brother looked stricken, as though someone had died, confusion and betrayal etched clearly on his face. Albus refused to look apologetic and attempted a reassuring smile. James ignored this and turned his attention back to the ceremony. 

Albus kept up his defiant optimism as three more first years were sorted into Slytherin, standing up from his seat and clapping thunderously. To his relief a handful of his housemates seemed to have caught his mood, cheering and whooping with him. They received approving looks from the teachers’ table and several students from other houses were clapping for the new Slytherins too. However, most of the Slytherins were pointedly ignoring this display of inter-house solidarity, looking embarrassed. Albus did his best to ignore them. Rose took her turn and was promptly sorted into Gryffindor. She looked relieved and Albus couldn’t help feeling jealous as his brother stood up to cheer for her.

Once dinner was over and they had been dismissed to their dormitories Albus found himself surrounded by a small crowd of housemates who smiled and came to introduce themselves, thanking him for what he’d done. In the crush of people he caught sight of Rose and for a moment she looked as though she wanted to talk to him, but none of his family sought him out. He went with the other Slytherins, descending to the castle’s lower levels. 

The conviction that he had made the right choice wavered significantly as he stepped into the Slytherin common room. He had known that it was near the dungeons but that hadn’t prepared him for just how much it _felt_ like a dungeon. The furnishings were luxurious, soft leather, glossy wood, thick carpets, but the colors were dark and forbidding with harsh shadows cast against the rough stone walls by the torches in their sconces. There was blackness beyond the windows and with a lurch of his stomach Albus remembered that it wasn’t the night sky he was seeing, but the darkness under the lake. A first year girl standing nearby whose name he couldn’t remember had noticed this as well and turned to him with round, terrified hazel eyes. 

“The-the water won’t get in, right? Because of the magic?”

Albus nodded in what he hoped was an authoritative way and then looked more closely at her. She had an olive complexion and her long chestnut hair had been worked into an intricately braided knot at the back of her head. Her earrings were shaped like tiny blue butterflies and with a pang of homesickness he found himself thinking of Lily.

“I like your hair,” he said, hoping to distract her from the windows, “did you do that yourself?”

She blinked and looked back at him.

“Oh, no, my mum did it for me this morning.”

It seemed as though she was about to say more but stopped herself, looking away as she clamped her mouth shut. He smiled and held out his hand.

“I’m Albus, what’s your name?”

“Candy.”

He blinked, surprised, and she let go of his hand, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-sorry.”

She shook her head.

“It’s okay; I just don’t really like my name,” she looked at him and frowned slightly, “are you a celebrity or something?”

He rolled his eyes.

“No, my dad is,” he eyed her shrewdly, “your parents, they’re Muggles?”

Candy started and looked around to see if anyone had overheard them. He lowered his voice.

“It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with it. My aunt’s Muggle-born and she’s brilliant.”

“Thanks. I-well, I heard people talking on the train, about Slytherins…”

Her voice trailed off and Albus could imagine the kind of things she’d heard. Again he felt rather ashamed of his own kind.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

For the first time she smiled a little.

“It was nice meeting you Albus, and thanks; I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely, and it was nice meeting you too.”

Candy walked away, following the other girls and clearly trying not to draw attention to herself. An older boy with a prefect’s badge came to round up the first year boys. There were four of them including Albus and he showed them the boys’ bathroom and shower room before bringing them to their dormitory. It was large and low-ceilinged with five canopied beds and a fireplace at the far end. Albus was grateful that their room had no windows. 

They glanced at each other awkwardly before walking down the center of the room to find their trunks. Albus’s had been placed at the foot of the second bed from the end in the left-hand row. He glanced at the trunk in front of the bed next to his. The lid was emblazoned with a crest and the name _Malfoy_ in curling gold letters. It looked very old and Albus wondered how many generations of the family had brought it with them to Hogwarts.

He was halfway through unpacking his own trunk into the small dresser next to his bed when the dormitory door opened and they all looked up. Scorpius stalked in and went straight to his bed with his eyes fixed on the floor. As though it had been agreed upon beforehand all five of them either changed their clothes on their beds with the curtains drawn or pulled out one curtain to duck behind. The fragile camaraderie that they had experienced during the Sorting Ceremony seemed to have been snuffed out by weariness and the gloom of the place. Albus told himself that it would be easier to make the best of things once the sun had risen again.

He changed on his bed and when he opened his curtains he found himself looking right at Scorpius, who had just opened his. Color crept into the other boy’s cheeks and he turned away quickly to toss his dirty clothes into the corner of the room with his robes. Albus climbed off his bed to fold his dirty clothes and leave them on top of his trunk for the house-elves to collect as Aunt Hermione had instructed him. He could feel eyes on him and turned his head to see Marcus, a skinny boy with spiky iron-colored hair watching him with a look of disdainful amusement. Feeling self-conscious, Albus turned back to his trunk. He heard whispering behind him from Marcus and Bernard but couldn’t make out the words and tried to ignore it.

“Still proud to be in Slytherin?”

The question was spoken so low and quietly that it took Albus a second to register. He looked over to find Scorpius standing at his own open trunk and watching him from under the white hair that hung over his forehead. Albus frowned, but Scorpius didn’t seem to be mocking him the way Marcus had, he just looked tired and angry. Albus lifted his chin.

“I am, and you should be too.”

It came out louder than he meant it to and he could feel the other boys listening in. Scorpius stared at him for a moment as though he’d never heard anything so idiotic, then closed his trunk and turned towards Albus, folding his arms across his chest. Bracing himself for a fight Albus faced him, his hands clenched at his sides.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Scorpius said coldly, “How could you? You’re a Potter, you’re practically royalty.”

Marcus, Bernard, and Max had given up pretending they weren’t listening and had all stopped what they were doing to watch. Albus glared at Scorpius.

“I am not.”

Scorpius raised an eyebrow.

“Really? This school has existed for thousands of years and you seem to think that you can change what it means to be Slytherin just by…what? _Being_ Slytherin?” Anger was growing in his voice and his eyes narrowed, “That must be it, because how can Slytherin be all bad if a _Potter_ can get in?”

Albus flinched and resisted the urge to take a step back. There was silence in the dormitory and Albus couldn’t think of anything to say. Scorpius didn’t seem pleased with himself, or with anything for that matter. When he spoke his voice was still cold and angry but the expression on his face wasn’t.

“You’ll see, Potter.”

Before Albus could respond Scorpius got back onto his bed and pulled the hangings closed. The other boys had turned away from them; Max looking embarrassed as he gathered up his toothbrush and toothpaste to bring to the bathroom, Marcus and Bernard already at the door, whispering again and sneering over their shoulders at Albus. Deciding he would brush his teeth in the morning, Albus climbed onto his bed and pulled the hangings closed. He curled into a ball under the covers and put a pillow over his head so he could cry without being heard. By the time the other boys came back he was so exhausted that he didn’t care what they were whispering about; he had never been so happy to fall asleep. 

Around midnight the noise started. Albus could hear the other boys stirring in their beds and knew he wasn’t imagining it. It was a low, straining, heavy sound which seemed to be reverberating through the stones of the castle itself. He sat up in bed, listening. It almost made him think of someone walking over frozen water, the ominous creaking of ice under pressure, but much deeper, and it was the castle being pressed.

“What is that?”

He couldn’t tell who had spoken in the darkness but it was clear that the question was on everyone’s mind; he heard muttered responses from the others, all of them trying not to show how unnerved they were. Suddenly a clear, sullen voice sounded from the bed to Albus’s left.

“It’s the giant squid. Get used to it; it happens every night, all year long.”

Silence greeted these words as the four of them absorbed the unpleasantness of this idea, and Albus sincerely hoped that Scorpius was exaggerating. The noise seemed to be moving away from them along the wall and then became high-pitched and terrible, the sharp grinding sound of something on the verge of breaking. One of the boys cried out in alarm and Albus felt his hair stand on end.

“That’ll be the windows,” Scorpius muttered darkly.

Albus thought of Candy and hoped that the noises wouldn’t wake her. He doubted it.


	3. Honey and Vinegar

The next morning on his way to breakfast he found Rose waiting for him outside the Great Hall. She was holding her book bag over one shoulder, her expression solemn.

“You look awful,” she said by way of greeting.

“I didn’t sleep very well.”

She tilted her head to the side slightly, her voice cool.

“Where’re all your new friends, then?”

He glared at her but couldn’t think of a retort. Plenty of people had glanced at him as he got ready and left the common room but all of them had looked away, the older students indifferent or scornful, the younger ones timid. Rose was still watching him, a tinge of apology in her eyes as he struggled for a reply, when suddenly someone was saying his name.

“Albus?”

He turned, surprised. Candy had appeared a couple of steps behind him, clutching her books to her chest and looking at him hesitantly, as though she expected him to brush her off for approaching him in public. He smiled at her.

“Good morning,” he gestured for her to come closer and she stepped to his side, “Candy, this is my cousin Rose, Rose, this is Candy.”

Rose smiled and waved.

“Nice to meet you,” she said politely.

“You too,” Candy replied.

Rose looked back at Albus.

“Look, I won’t keep you; James just wanted me to tell you that he wrote to your mum and dad last night about the Sorting, so you should expect a letter.”

Albus’s heart sank, but indignation was burning in him too.

“Well you can tell James from me that I’m in awe of the bravery of Gryffindors if he can’t even come talk to me himself.”

She squared her shoulders, frowning at him, and walked away into the Great Hall. Candy waited until Rose was some distance away before looking at him.

“Who’s James?”

“My older brother,” he muttered, hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder and heading into the Hall. Candy walked with him; she had taken out her braids and pinned her hair back with a plastic clip, the loose waves falling halfway down her back. She was really very pretty.

“Why’re they mad at you?” she asked as they edged down the side of the Hall to an open section of the Slytherin table. He sighed, putting his book bag underneath the bench and sitting down. She sat down next to him.

“They wanted me to be in Gryffindor. My grandparents were in Gryffindor, both sets, my parents, my aunt and uncles, my brother and Rose…”

His voice trailed off as his looked across the room to the Gryffindor table. James was eating sausages and making a show of looking everywhere but in his direction. Candy followed his gaze.

“Is that him?” Albus nodded, and she went on, “And…they think you’re going to turn out bad or something? Because you’re in Slytherin?”

The piles of toast and eggs and ham in front of him suddenly didn’t seem as appetizing as they had a moment ago. He nodded.

“That’s the idea, yah.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a great rush of wings as dozens of owls flew into the Hall. Candy jumped and looked up, her mouth falling open. Albus smiled at her.

“They’re bringing the mail.”

She nodded and watched as the owls swooped down to their recipients. Albus spotted Hunter, James’s eagle owl flying down to the Gryffindor table, and then pointed out the sleek grey and white owl which had just swooped in.

“See that one? That’s my dad’s owl, Dobby.”

Candy sat back, looking nervous as Dobby flew straight over to them and landed elegantly on the table, holding out his leg to Albus. He untied the scroll and Dobby hopped onto his arm, nipping at his hair and hooting softly. Grateful for the bird’s affection, Albus petted him and fed him some toast. Candy watched them, smiling tentatively. 

“Dobby, this is Candy, she’s a new friend of mine.”

The owl tilted his head to the side as though he had understood and Albus held him out towards her.

“Do you wanna pet him? He won’t mind.”

Candy hesitated and then reached out her hand, stroking his soft feathers. 

“You can use him or Pebble, my owl, if you ever wanna write to your parents; they’re both really good.”

Dobby hooted softly as though agreeing with him then opened his wings and took off from Albus’s arm, heading back towards the open windows near the ceiling. Candy watched him go, still smiling.

“He’s nice. My mum would probably have a heart attack if he showed up at our flat though.”

Albus was about to reply when a ripple of whispered conversation went through the Hall and he realized that Scorpius had walked in. His expression was grim and he hadn’t taken more than five steps when a voice rang out from one of the other tables.

_“Hide the chairs!”_

There was laughter at this and Scorpius stopped dead before turning and leaving the Hall again. Albus watched him go with an uncomfortable mixture of satisfaction and sympathy. Candy had gotten herself a bowl of oatmeal and was adding cinnamon and milk to it, watching the commotion in silence. For a moment Albus thought of bringing a plate of food to Scorpius but dismissed the idea. The memory of what he’d said the night before still made Albus’s face feel hot with shame. 

He’d been trying to tell himself that Scorpius was wrong, that he didn’t think being a Potter made him better than other people, but it was like trying to patch a leaky boat with sellotape. Did that mean it was true? Albus added some bacon to his own plate and poured himself a glass of milk, trying not to think about it. Suddenly remembering his letter, he opened the scroll and felt another pang of homesickness as he saw his father’s handwriting.

_Dear Albus,_

_First of all, congratulations on getting into Slytherin! Your mother and I miss you of course but we’re very happy for you and hope that your first year at Hogwarts is a wonderful experience. I’m sure you’re aware that James is upset about your Sorting. I have a feeling that his account of what happened is exaggerated, so I would love to hear your thoughts if you ever want to talk about it. I stand by what I told you yesterday; any house would be lucky to have you. No matter what your mother and I love you and are proud of you. I know you just got there, but have you made any friends yet? I’m sure that it will happen soon if it hasn’t yet. You’re a kind person by nature, and if you embrace that people will be drawn to you. Your mother and I can’t wait to hear about your classes and teachers, the friends you’ll make and the adventures you’ll have._

_Love, Dad_

_P.S. Lily wants me to tell you that she misses you too and that she’s going to write you a letter today._

Albus was grinning as he finished the letter, folding it up and putting it in his pocket. After he and Candy had finished eating he wrapped up a couple of scones and some bacon in one of the heavy cloth napkins and carried the bundle in the wide sleeve of his robe, hoping that when he finally spotted Scorpius he would be able to discreetly drop the food into his bag when the other boy wasn’t looking.

Their first class was Potions. He and Candy sat together at a table in the middle of the classroom while Scorpius chose one in the farthest back corner. No one moved to join him and he sat with his arms folded indifferently as the rest of the class came in and took their seats. After welcoming them and making an introductory speech about what they would be learning in their first term, Professor Merithwaite wrote a list of ingredients on the blackboard for them to get from the large cabinet at the front of the classroom. Spotting his opportunity, Albus hung back and waited until Scorpius had left his table to join the queue at the cabinet. Making sure that Professor Merithwaite wasn’t watching, he darted back to Scorpius’s table, quickly slipping the bundle into his open school bag before hurrying to join Candy.

“Did anyone notice me?” he whispered to her.

“I don’t think so,” she murmured, glancing around them.

Their first assignment was to examine the basic ingredients that they would be working with as they read about them in their books, taking notes on their properties and what happened when they were combined in various ways. Albus found it fascinating and was more than happy to help Candy, who was struggling with the unfamiliar words. They were halfway through the assignment before Albus took the time to glance over his shoulder at the back table. Scorpius was intent on a scroll of parchment which he was filling with notes, his quill moving rapidly. Albus glanced at him a couple more times during the rest of the lesson but didn’t see any indication that Scorpius had discovered the food in his bag. Their homework was to finish taking notes on the ingredients and Albus was glad that he and Candy were already almost done. History of Magic was their second class and Scorpius was the last to come in. Albus smiled to himself, wondering if the other boy had ducked away somewhere to eat.

Scorpius didn't show up for lunch and Albus couldn’t decide what kind of food he would like. He was debating between a chicken sandwich and mincemeat pie while Candy watched him, frowning.

“Why does being in Slytherin bother him so much?”

Albus thought for a minute and then took a deep breath. As best he could, he told Candy what he knew about the war, about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, about the Malfoy family. Candy listened and was silent for a long time after he’d finished, considering the food in front of them.

“The sandwich would be easier to wrap up,” she said finally, “We should put in a couple of cookies too.”


	4. The Mandala

Scorpius was sitting on the floor in the corner of a shadowy alcove behind a large statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, waiting for Divination class. The castle was mercifully silent around him and he stared at the smoothed white marble of the statue’s plinth. He was debating whether or not he would leave his bag unattended once class started should the opportunity present itself. Skipping the feast the night before had left him so hungry that he’d eaten all of the food that had appeared in his bag during Potions before it occurred to him that it might have been tampered with. However, since no ill effects had developed and his stomach was starting to growl again, Scorpius couldn’t help but wonder if his unknown benefactor was planning to bring him lunch as well.

It was probably Potter. The idea of being pitied was awful, but his unwilling gratitude was worse. He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his head down on his folded arms. 

_You shouldn’t have kicked the chair._

He knew this, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. It would’ve been smarter to play it cool, to have accepted the Sorting and taken his seat at the Slytherin table as though none of it mattered to him. It wasn’t as though anyone had expected him to be in any of the other houses. But _he_ had expected it, and it mattered terribly. He had convinced himself that if he wanted it badly enough he could choose something else and surprise everybody. A sob convulsed in his chest. He clenched his teeth and willed himself not to cry.

Finally he began to hear the sounds of students in the hall below, approaching the winding stairs which would bring them up to the landing where he sat. He stood and climbed the ladder to the trap door in the ceiling above, pushing it open and closing it afterwards as quietly as he could. The circular tower room had been constructed like a small amphitheater with a fireplace, desk, a large cabinet at its far end and three rows of raised seating along its sides with small tables and chairs for the students. Narrow windows on either side of the fireplace allowed the bright fall afternoon sunlight to filter into the high open space. He looked around and noticed another ladder, this one made of iron rungs set into the wall at the back of the room which led to a second trap door in the ceiling. Scorpius wondered if it led to the professor’s office as he took a seat at the table next to it. 

The only decoration in the room was a large circular design which took up the entire floor. It seemed to have been burnt into the boards and he didn’t realize how absorbed he’d become in studying its intricate patterns until the trap door below opened and voices filled the room. He’d made sure to place his bag on the other chair at his table just in case anyone thought of sitting next to him and had taken out his copy of _The Auger’s Raven_ , pretending to read so he wouldn’t have to see them looking at him. However, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing up to note where Potter sat, on the lowest row in front of him. The girl he seemed to have befriended, whose name Scorpius couldn’t remember, sat at the table with him. He also couldn’t help but wonder if they had chosen a table near him so that Potter could get to his bag. Again his empty stomach battled with his pride as to whether or not he would give Potter the chance.

Gradually the sounds of scraping chair legs and chatter died down to be replaced with an expectant, murmuring silence. Scorpius suddenly felt the attention of the room shift in his direction and looked up to realize that the trap door above him had opened and Professor Robins was descending the ladder. He’d forgotten that she was the Divination teacher and looked away in embarrassment, cursing himself for sitting next to the ladder. She proceeded down the rows to stand in the center of the floor’s design and look around at all of them. He was vaguely surprised to see that she was wearing Muggle clothes; black shoes, black tights, a charcoal pleated skirt that swished around her knees and a dove-grey turtleneck with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The wild dark curls framing her face made him think of crows, although he wasn’t sure why. She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled at them.

“Welcome to first-year Divination everybody. Now, I can’t promise that I’ll remember all of your names right away, but I do want to go around the room and have each of you introduce yourselves.”

Obediently they took turns reciting their names, muttering and warily avoiding Professor Robin’s encouraging smile. Potter, however, looked right back at her and said his name clearly; it was obvious from his voice that he was smiling. Scorpius rolled his eyes and smirked. He realized he was going to be the last one and again regretted sitting next to the ladder. When it was his turn he forced himself to make eye contact with her and keep his voice neutral. He was grateful that she didn’t have any special reaction to him and proceeded smoothly into her lesson.

“This term we’re going to be studying symbolism, which is really the backbone of this subject. Too much emphasis is often put on Second Sight itself, making prophesies and having visions and students can quickly become discouraged if they feel that they don’t possess this particular magical gift. That’s why I like to take a more practical approach by teaching the theories behind Divination and how they’ve developed throughout magical and Muggle history.”

After this speech she endeavored to get them talking about magical symbols that they were already familiar with. Scorpius privately thought this was a rather foolish teaching method and felt a little bad for her as his classmates avoided her gaze in sullen silence. He was surprised when Potter’s hand didn’t go up at once. _Maybe it’s finally starting to wear him down_. Scorpius raised his hand and Professor Robins nodded at him.

“Yes, Scorpius?”

“A black cat.”

“Definitely, and what do black cats symbolize?”

“Depends on who you ask,” he replied, unsure as to where this sudden desire to show off had come from, “Some people think they’re good luck, some think they’re bad luck, but pretty much everyone agrees that black cats have a connection to the supernatural.”

Professor Robins smiled and Scorpius did his best to not look too pleased with himself as she addressed the room at large again.

“That’s very true, and not just black cats; cats in general are often seen as mystical creatures, especially in Egyptian culture. Does anyone know why that is?”

Scorpius raised his hand again.

“There’s an Egyptian cat goddess named Bast. Cats are seen as her agents and messengers.”

A few of his classmates exchanged dubious looks, their eyebrows raised, and Scorpius ignored them haughtily. Professor Robins looked impressed.

“That’s very good Scorpius, ten points to Slytherin.”

Perhaps to spite Scorpius and perhaps for points other people were soon raising their hands to participate in the discussion. For the first time since the Sorting Scorpius felt somewhat content as he sat back and listened. Abruptly he noticed that Albus was glancing over his shoulder at him, smiling. Scorpius looked away pointedly.

After a few minutes of discussing different symbols Robins instructed them to get out of their seats and line up around the design on the floor. They obeyed and Scorpius was gratified to see that he was given a wider berth than anyone else. He avoided looking at Potter. 

“Now that we’ve gone over some familiar symbols,” Robins said, “I want you to try an interpretive exercise. There is no right or wrong answer to this, so you don’t need to worry,” she gestured to the design at their feet, “It’s a mandala. I want you to take some time to study it. Try to let your mind go blank as you look at the shapes, and see what kind of pattern emerges.”

They all looked down at the floor and Scorpius got the feeling that most of them doubted the validity of the task. He studied the design as instructed and again found it surprisingly easy to become absorbed. At first glance details blurred together into the overall image, but the longer he looked the more complexity he saw. He followed the shapes clockwise, counterclockwise, radiating from the middle; he let his eyes go out of focus and could almost imagine that the invisible rings of the design were moving in different directions simultaneously.

“Four.”

For a long moment Scorpius wasn’t aware that Robins had spoken. He blinked and looked up. She was looking around at them with a smile that was almost shy, as though just realizing that she’d spoken aloud. 

“I got ‘four’,” she said again, “Did anyone else get something? A number? An image?”

Scorpius looked around at the others and saw blank or confused expressions. Potter’s frown of concentration was rather comical. When Scorpius looked down however he saw that three of the fingers on his right hand were curled to his palm. _Two_. He shivered and stretched out his fingers, feeling unsettled. Robins caught his eye briefly from across the circle before smiling and addressing the class again.

“Like I said, no wrong answers. Alright, your homework for next week: I want you to read the first chapter of your book, pick one of the symbols discussed and write twelve inches of parchment summarizing what it means according to the book and what it means personally to you.”

As the others started to head back to their seats she called to him.

“Scorpius, could I have a word?”

She walked back towards the fireplace and he followed her. Robins leaned against her desk and looked at him, her expression thoughtful, almost excited. 

“What did you get?” she asked quietly.

Scorpius didn’t answer; he still felt dazed and he didn’t like it. Her smile faded slightly. 

“Mandala meditation can be a little intense if you’re not used to it. I apologize; to be honest I wasn’t really expecting anyone to go out that much. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied at once.

She watched him for another moment, then smiled and straightened up.

“Good. And thanks for your participation today. I’m glad you’re in my class.”

He managed a weak smile as he nodded back. By now the classroom was empty and when he picked up his bag he saw a bundle wrapped in napkins resting on top of his books.


	5. D.E.B.

Scorpius showed up in the Great Hall for dinner that night and at every meal for the rest of the week. Each time one or more people would make some kind of taunt about his Sorting and Albus would watch Scorpius’s jaw clench as he took a seat by himself at the far end of the table and ate without acknowledging anyone. The unfortunate consequence of this defiance was that it made people look for other ways of getting a reaction out of him. It was unclear who started it, but the term “Deb” emerged into popular usage on Tuesday and at once it became Scorpius’s nickname. Albus first heard it shouted in mock friendliness to Scorpius in the hallway by an older Gryffindor boy and was confused by it until Astronomy, which was a double class with the Ravenclaw first years. Scorpius correctly answered a question and Albus distinctly heard a Ravenclaw girl near him mutter “Nice one, Deb.” Her friend must have looked confused because she added, even more quietly, “Death Eater Brat.”

What made the situation even worse was that Scorpius seemed to be the only “Deb” at Hogwarts. Albus found this difficult to believe but Scorpius was the only person he heard the term addressed to. The other Slytherins avoided him like a contagion, some, it seemed, out of genuine fear that they would be bullied as well and others because they clearly enjoyed watching Scorpius take the brunt of the derision. 

Albus hated all of it but wasn’t sure what he could do to help. Several of their teachers seemed to be making an extra effort with Scorpius, smiling kindly and praising every correct answer or good deed as though hoping to set an example for the student body. Albus couldn’t help but wince when they did this, not only out of embarrassment for Scorpius, who gradually stopped answering questions in class, but also because it wasn’t working. Scorpius was soon being teased as a teacher’s pet as well as a Deb.

He privately felt that Scorpius wasn’t making things easier for himself either. On at least three separate occasions Albus witnessed other students trying to reach out to Scorpius. A Gryffindor girl stood protectively in front of him and publicly rebuked a housemate who had been taunting him, a seventh-year Hufflepuff boy boldly came over to the Slytherin table during breakfast on Wednesday and sat across from him, and a pair of timid first-year Ravenclaw girls approached him after Care of Magical Creatures that same day to present him with a green and silver scarf they had knitted for him. 

Scorpius had glared so furiously at the Gryffindor girl that she had actually gone pale and stepped away from him. The open, friendly expression on the Hufflepuff boy’s face had fallen and become stony with anger as Scorpius spoke quietly to him, his face and attitude radiating disdain. Albus had been somewhat afraid for the Ravenclaw girls, but when one of them held the scarf out to Scorpius he just turned away and continued walking to the castle without saying a word.

Candy had gone over to the Ravenclaw girls, who were looking a little teary, and introduced herself, complimenting their knitting and making small talk as they all walked back to the castle. By the time they parted ways in the entrance hall the girls were smiling again and had invited Candy to join their Book Club. Albus had grown very fond of his new friend and saved a table near the fire in the Slytherin common room for them every night so they could do their homework together. Even though it was clear to him that Candy was bright, she seemed to be struggling with her school work. Whenever they were instructed to use their wands in class she hesitated and her magic came out in small, unpredictable bursts when it appeared at all. She’d never used a quill before and couldn’t get the hang of it; their tips tore her parchment, they were crushed in her bag, she accidentally overloaded them with ink and had to rewrite entire assignments when they became illegible. Albus was surprised to find that pencils and pens were almost impossible to find at Hogwarts. Every time he spotted somebody using one and later asked them about it they denied its existence, as though the objects were taboo. 

Even though Candy accepted his help with her homework he could tell she was self-conscious about it. Aside from the difficulties of quills her spelling was terrible and it took her twice as long to construct a paragraph. Albus had a growing suspicion that Candy was much worse at reading than she let on, but couldn’t begin to think how to bring this up to her. She never raised her hand to answer questions in class and mercifully had never been called upon to read out loud. She’d politely declined the Ravenclaw girls’ invitation to join their Book Club and every time Albus caught them looking at her afterward their expressions were a little cooler and they hadn’t approached her since.

It was Thursday night and they were sitting at the table closest to the fire to keep warm in the subterranean chill of the common room. Candy had spent the last two hours crafting a History of Magic essay which Albus had finished in less than half the time. He’d finished a Divination assignment and was halfway through a set of Astronomy equations when Candy sat back and put down her quill. She said nothing but glanced in his direction before quickly looking back at her parchment, her arms folded on the table. She’d worked her hair into a thick glossy braid that draped over one shoulder and her earrings were small purple stars that sparkled in the firelight. Whenever she put her quill down and sat quietly like this it meant that she was waiting for him to reach a stopping point in his own work, a mute appeal for him to look over what she had done. He put aside what he was doing and smiled at her.

“Done with Binns?”

She nodded.

“Did you want me to look over it?”

Candy looked down.

“If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” he said at once, pulling her essay across the table. He could see at once that part of the reason the assignment had taken her so long was that she had painstakingly managed to write out the whole thing without splotching her ink. He had written to his parents that morning detailing Candy’s struggles and asking if they could send a pack of pencils and a sharpener. It was clear from the way she wrote that Candy relied heavily on her school books, copying as much as she dared directly from the text. However, he was getting the impression that there was a lot of guesswork involved, that sometimes she copied down a word or phrase just hoping that it was the one she needed. It made her writing very awkward and his heart sank the more he read. She would have to rewrite most of this one too. Candy had unrolled a fresh piece of parchment as soon as Albus started reading her essay, already resigned to the fact that it wasn’t good enough, and they spent the next hour going through it together as she wrote out the second draft. 

Occasionally Albus would glance up and catch other students in the common room watching them, their expressions curious or appraising. It was the reaction he’d been seeing more and more during that week, and not just from Slytherins. The students who bothered to be interested seemed to be reserving judgment on Candy because he was a Potter, but he could tell that opinions and theories were forming and dreaded what they would say if they found out that Candy was a Muggleborn who could barely read and write.

By the time Candy was carefully writing out the conclusion to her essay people had begun to wander off to bed. The door to the common room opened and Scorpius came in. He always appeared around the same time; Albus suspected that he did his homework in the library in order to avoid the common room as much as possible. Their eyes met and Scorpius paused. As the fire crackled and the tip of Candy’s quill scratched quietly on the parchment they considered each other for a moment. 

Albus had to remind himself that he’d only actually spoken to the other boy once because it didn’t feel that way. It almost felt as though they’d never _stopped_ talking, which didn’t make sense at all. Scorpius looked away and continued on to their dormitory. When Albus eventually followed suit he was unsurprised to find the room silent and the curtains of every bed firmly drawn.


	6. In Which Candy Meets a Flying Rabbit and Hagrid Says More Than He Should

On Friday morning Pebble flew into the Great Hall clasping the thick string binding of a package the size of a shoe box in his clawed feet. Albus was surprised but happy to see that the package was addressed to Candy, who hadn’t received any mail since arriving at Hogwarts. He handed it over to her, smiling at the confused expression on her face as she tore away the brown paper wrapping.

“Why would your parents send me a package?”

“Just open it,” he said as Pebble nibbled at the toast on his plate.

He helped Candy perform a charm to cut open the tape sealing the cardboard box, and felt his jaw drop a little when she opened it. There were pencils, pens, erasers, three pencil sharpeners, a small spiral-bound notebook, a pack of beginner’s quills, and a shatter-proof travel bottle for ink. Albus felt a rush of love and gratitude towards his parents and couldn’t stop smiling, but he said nothing at first and turned his attention to Pebble. After a long moment Candy looked over at him.

“Did you ask them to do this?”

His smile faltered as it occurred to him that he probably should have asked her permission, or at least let her know that he had done it. He could feel himself stammering as he answered.

“You seemed to be having bad luck with quills, and I couldn’t find any pencils here, so I just asked if they could send some, so you could erase rather than having to rewrite so much. I didn’t know they were going to do all this, I’m sorry, I-”

His voice trailed off. Candy was staring at the box and he couldn’t tell if she was angry or not. They sat in awkward silence for a few seconds before she blinked, seeming to remember herself.

“Sorry, I-thank them for me,” she managed a smile, “really, this-this is so kind of them.”

Albus returned the smile, still feeling uncertain.

“I will.”

He wasn’t sure what else to say and was suddenly aware of covert looks being cast their way from nearby students. As the day went on he continued to notice the attention; eyes hastily averted as he and Candy walked to class together, the occasional whispering and expressions of amused speculation. He even caught James and Rose, who had been avoiding him all week, sneaking a glance at them in the hallway, their heads inclined towards each other in conversation. Although he was still angry at his brother Albus couldn’t deny that it was strange not talking to him. Sometimes he felt that he would even welcome a fight if it meant an end to the silence.

Albus spent the whole day looking forward to having tea with Hagrid. He had finally gotten Candy to agree to come with him, confident that Hagrid would make her feel welcome. When their last class ended they returned to their dormitories to drop off their school bags and headed off to Hagrid’s together. The air was wonderfully fresh after being inside all day and several students were scattered over the grounds, taking advantage of the last warm days of the year. Hagrid’s garden was full of sunflowers that were almost as tall as his hut, and the smell of wood smoke was coming from the chimney. His godfather greeted Albus with a roar of pleasure and got down on one knee to scoop him into a crushing hug.

“It’s about time Al, good ter see yeh!”

“You too,” Albus replied. Seeing Hagrid suddenly made him feel homesick again and he was grateful when Hagrid let go and turned his attention to Candy, beaming at her and holding out a massive leathery hand.

“An' Miss Candy Briar, glad yeh could join us!”

She smiled back, shaking his hand, and Albus was glad to see that Hagrid was much gentler with her than he had been with Albus. The inside of the hut was cluttered but cozy, and Albus and Candy were able to share one of the armchairs by the fireplace quite comfortably while Hagrid busied himself getting their tea. Years before, on Aunt Hermione’s recommendation, Hagrid had taken it upon himself to purchase a set of regular-sized dishes and silverware for guests, and Albus could tell that Candy was grateful for this when she saw the mug that Hagrid was drinking from, which was about the size of a pumpkin. The tea was strong and sweet and they listened as Hagrid told them all about Bumper, his winged and fanged white rabbit, which was the size of a donkey and currently out hunting. He regaled Candy with the story of Bumper’s parentage and birth, oblivious to her increasingly dumbstruck expression.

“I was walkin' through the forest, five years back now it was, makin' my rounds when I come across a thestral, all alone and cryin’ out in pain ter break yer heart. She was fixin’ ter have a baby, yeh see, on'y I didn’ know that right away, she weren’t very big with it,” he leaned forward a little, raising his eyebrows, “Ter tell yeh the truth I didn’ know fer sure until I pulled the little tyke outta her, and yeh kin imagine my surprise!”

He laughed, as he always did at this point in the story, and Albus grinned, shaking his head. When he and his siblings were younger they would often press Hagrid to explain how exactly a thestral could mate with a rabbit, at which point Hagrid would sigh and shrug, a rather dreamy expression on his face, and simply say “It was springtime.”

By the time Hagrid had finished detailing Bumper’s growth and development, her first flight and her first kill, Candy’s shock had worn off and she was laughing along with them. With rather excellent timing Bumper herself arrived shortly thereafter, landing on the roof of the hut with a surprisingly soft thump. Hagrid rose with all the pride of a showman about to unveil his star attraction and walked towards a thick rope hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

“She prefers roostin' up there, so I built a hatch in the roof. Sometimes she goes huntin' for me, very sweet thing she is, an' it’s easier for her ter drop it through the hatch if she’s too busy ter come inside.”

In spite of himself Albus felt a little alarmed by this development and he and Candy both jumped as Hagrid tugged on the rope and a large square of the roof swung downward, scattering a good deal of loose thatch over the rug. With a rush of air something dropped through to land with a wet, bloody splat in a large metal cooking pot which Hagrid had positioned under the hole. Candy let out a little cry as Bumper’s snout edged through the hatch. They could hear her claws scraping against the beams above them and the soft white fur around her pink nose was matted with bright blood. Hagrid waved them over excitedly.

“Come an' see!”

Grateful that Hagrid had had the foresight to put out the pot to catch Bumper’s kill, Albus slid down from the armchair and reached out a hand to help Candy, who trembled slightly as they approached the hole in the roof. Bumper was looking down at them with inquisitive pink eyes, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. Through the hatch they could just make out the lengths of her long white ears. Hagrid reached up to stroke the top of her head, cooing lovingly.

“Good girl Bumper, an' yeh brough' me ducks, thank yeh, I kin make a right good stew outta them.”

Candy and Albus looked down into the pot. Sure enough, three bloodied ducks lay at the bottom. 

“We’ve got Al here visitin', you remember Al, an' this is his friend Candy, you haven’ met her before,” he turned to Candy, “would yeh like ter pet her?”

Candy’s eyes widened but to Albus’s surprise she took a step forward and nodded. Hagrid picked her up carefully and moved close enough that she could reach out a hand. Bumper sniffed again then dipped her great head under Candy’s palm. It was worth coming, Albus decided, just for the look of joyful awe on his friend’s face as she petted the giant rabbit. After a moment or two Bumper pulled away from Candy’s hand and spread her black leathery wings, making the roof beams groan in protest as she pushed off into the air. Hagrid put Candy back down, smiling, and Albus could tell that she had claimed a place in his great heart.

They were shown to the table where Hagrid laid out a spread of roast chicken, bread, cider, and vegetables from his garden. While they ate he busied himself with plucking and cleaning the ducks over in the kitchen area of the cabin, talking to them the whole time over his shoulder or occasionally turning to gesticulate with a bloody, feathery hand. He told Candy of how he’d been taught to cook by his late wife, a fellow half-giant named Olympia, of whom he always spoke with great warmth. Albus wished, as he had countless times, that he had had a chance to get to know her. Hagrid had warned them to save room for pudding, and once he was done cleaning the ducks he brought out a plate of custard tarts, a bowl of warm raspberry sauce, and more tea. He sat down with them, and after a few contented minutes of eating, he looked over at Candy.

“Where’s home fer yeh, Miss Briar?”

She looked up and hesitated a moment before answering.

“Middlesbrough.”

Albus did his best not to react. It was no wonder that Candy hadn’t volunteered the information on her own. Hagrid nodded politely, as though unaware of the area’s reputation.

“An' yer parents? What do they do?”

Candy was absentmindedly pressing the last of her tart’s crust into pieces with the tip of her spoon, not looking at either of them.

“My mum is a hotel cleaning lady and my dad works on boats.”

Albus laughed, trying to bring the conversation out of the dreary mood it had stumbled into.

“Better not let my grandpa meet him, he’ll badger him to death with questions.”

The tight smile she gave him didn’t reach her eyes and Hagrid’s voice was gentle as he went on.

“'Spect it was a big surprise fer them when yeh got yer letter, eh?”

Candy nodded but said nothing.

“Any brothers ‘er sisters?”

She shook her head, still staring at her plate. Hagrid smiled a little sadly and cleared his throat, clearly searching for a more lighthearted topic of conversation.

“So how’re yeh likin' Hogwarts so far?”

Albus was more than happy to take over the conversation for Candy at this point, but became aware of the bitterness threatening to creep into his voice even as he tried to maintain that he was happy to be there and proud to be in Slytherin. Hagrid’s frown deepened as Albus talked about the Sorting, the dungeons, the giant squid, James and Rose, the thinly veiled hostility of his housemates and the bullying. Without meaning to he suddenly found himself talking about Scorpius and heard the indignation in his voice increase dramatically. A look of surprise registered on his godfather’s face and Albus forced himself to stop talking. Hagrid sat back and regarded him thoughtfully.

“I had noticed a bit o’ that,” he said after a moment, “didn’ realize it was quite that bad though.”

He was quiet, tapping a large fingertip on the table, and then shook his head.

“That’s unfortunate. You always hope people kin let go o' the past, bu' bad blood is hard ter wash out sometimes.”

Candy was quiet, watching them, and Albus realized how much he’d wanted to talk to someone who really understood.

“It’s just so unfair, I mean, none of us had anything to do with the war, it’s not like Scorpius chose to be a Malfoy any more than I chose to be a Potter. And the teachers know, all of them know what’s going on but they’re not doing anything to stop it, not really.”

“Sometimes there isn’ much kin be done,” Hagrid said patiently, “I’m not sayin’ it’s right, bu' lots o’ them teachers, like me, _were_ in the war. People they loved were tortured an’ killed an’ worse, some of them at the hands of that family, _in_ Malfoy Manor. It can’ be easy fer 'em ter think that Draco Malfoy’s alive an’ well, livin’ in that house when so many innocent died.”

Albus frowned.

“But he did go to Azkaban, didn’t he? He was already punished.”

Hagrid nodded.

“I was at the trial, matter o’ fact. You hafta understand, the first time Voldemort got defeated, when yer dad was a baby, so many of those first Death Eaters escaped or survived Azkaban, an' joined right back up with him when he came back. So when yer dad finished him fer good, people wanted ter ‘do it right’, punish the Death Eaters so none o' them could have the chance to go bad ever again. Almost every single one o’ them was captured an' sentenced ter the Dementor’s Kiss, lived out the rest o’ their sorry lives in Azkaban an' were buried in the sea.”

“What’s the Dementor’s Kiss?” Candy whispered. When they had finished explaining it she had gone very pale and Hagrid went on with his story.

“It was a big controversy at the time. Two o' the on'y Death Eaters ter get a reduced sentence were Scorpius’s father an’ grandmother, an’ that on'y ‘cuz yer father testified fer ‘um.”

Details of the war had been largely kept from Albus, his siblings and cousins. Every now and then scraps of information would be found or overheard and they traded these amongst themselves like currency. He’d never heard about this before.

“He did?”

Hagrid suddenly frowned, as though he’d momentarily forgotten who he was speaking to.

“Oh, righ'. Al, would yeh mind not tellin' yer dad I told yeh all this? I don’ think he’d mind, really, but strictly speakin’ he didn’ want you kids knowin’ all this ‘til yeh were older.”

“I promise,” Albus said at once, eager to hear more.

“Alrigh’. Yer father spoke at almost all o' the trials, since he’d met up with most o’ the Death Eaters at one time or the other. He an’ yer aunt an’ uncle were captured towards the end o' the war, yeh see, an’ taken ter Malfoy Manor so Draco could identify ‘um before they were handed over ter Voldemort. Yer aunt had put a spell on yer dad so that he didn’ look like himself. He reckoned that Draco could tell it was him anyway, but Draco wouldn’ say it. Even with his family an’ the rest urgin’ him on, yer dad says Draco barely even looked at him, just kept sayin’ he couldn’ be sure, an' it bought ‘um enough time to find a way to escape.” 

Hagrid hesitated, clearly making more of an effort to avoid information he’d been asked not to talk about.

“There were also things that happened here at Hogwarts, yer dad’s sixth year. That’s when Draco Malfoy had taken the Dark Mark an' become a Death Eater. He was underage, he’d bin threatened, an’ right away started showin’ signs that he didn’ wanna be doin’ what he was doin’. Mostly on account o' yer dad’s testimony the Wizengamont decided ter be merciful and sentenced Draco ter Azkaban without the Kiss fer the same amount o’ time he’d bin a Death Eater. It was a big teh-do at the time. Even with yer dad vouchin’ fer him an' a prison cell with his name on it most everyone said he should’ve gotten a full sentence, like his dad. People mutter about that ter this day.”

“And Scorpius’s grandmother?”

Hagrid nodded.

“Yer dad fought pretty hard for her too. I actually got ter testify at her trial with him, seein’s how I was there. It was durin’ the final battle, right out here in the forest. Even if yeh blindfolded me I could still take yeh to the spot. Voldemort had hit yer dad with the Killin’ Curse fer a second time, an' it looked to’ve worked. Narcissa Malfoy was ordered ter go make sure he was dead. They had me captured, all strung up ter watch, an' she told everyone he was dead. Felt like the world was endin’,” he looked at Albus and brightened, “Bu' he wasn’t o’ course. All she cared about was whether or not Draco was still alive, an’ when yer dad told her he was, she lied. She lied right ter Voldemort’s face and the sorry ol’ villain wanted ter believe it so bad he didn’t think ter check fer himself!” 

Hagrid hit the table with a sudden crow of victory and Albus couldn’t help but smile. He’d heard about his father’s possum act during the final battle before but never got tired of it.

“It all could’ve ended right there if it weren’t fer Narcissa, an’ yer dad made sure everyone knew it. The Wizengamont wasn’t quite as persuaded though. Sentenced her ter life in Azkaban without the Kiss. She died in there a month after Draco was released,” Hagrid’s expression grew solemn, “I heard a rumor once that Narcissa was put in the cell next ter her son’s an' across from her husband’s. That the two of ‘um watched the Dementors take Lucius and got ter stare at what was left o' him every day after.”

Albus was no longer smiling and felt as though icy water was trickling into his stomach. Hagrid wasn’t looking at either of them, his gaze far away. Even though he knew that it wasn’t the same Albus couldn’t help trying to imagine it, watching his own father waste away and having to leave his mother behind in Azkaban. Whatever Draco Malfoy had done, he couldn’t see how anyone might think that it was an insufficient punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol the Hagrid-speak did my head in a little bit, I'm making zero claims of accuracy on that :P Although I do have to say that his line about springtime might be one of the best things I've ever written :D


	7. The Man in the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius remembers an important birthday.

The shadows of the library seemed to hunch over his shoulders like large watchful birds as Scorpius considered the empty sheet of parchment. He’d been avoiding his Divination assignment all week, remembering the uncomfortable sense of disconnect he’d experienced during class. He shook his head. _You’re just letting it scare you, nothing actually happened._

He had spent more time in the library that week than anywhere else in the castle. It was the one place where he didn’t worry that someone would come up and start talking to him. Madame Sylvestra, the librarian, saw to that. From where he sat he could see her hunched behind the circulation desk under a wild mane of frizzy dishwater blonde hair that hung to her waist when it wasn’t piled on top of her head and held in place by whatever seemed to be handy. Tonight she had used a small knitting needle and a long thin screwdriver with a red plastic handle. A sudden burst of laughter rang out from across the room and she all but leapt from her chair, sweeping towards the noise like a bird of prey, her long skirt billowing and her hands clenched. The group of seventh-years a couple of tables from Scorpius smirked, barely looking up from their work. Most of the students he’d seen in the library were older, fifth-years preparing for their O.W.L.s, sixth and seventh-years for their N.E.W.T.s. They disappeared behind mountains of books and parchment and were refreshingly indifferent to him.

Scorpius dipped the tip of his quill into the ink bottle at his side and started with the easy part, summarizing what _The Augur’s Raven_ had to say about the moon. For the most part it was pretty straightforward stuff that he could’ve guessed without reading the book, which was why he’d chosen it for his essay. A feminine symbol, dualistic with its light and dark sides, tidal, cyclical; the first half of the parchment filled itself easily. However, once he’d wrung all he could from the book he faltered again. He could still see the look of excitement on Professor Robins’ face when she’d called him over to her desk. What bothered him was the fact that his reaction to the exercise had apparently been unique and he couldn’t figure out why. Would the same thing happen after she read his essay? Would she be able to tell if he just made something up? Would that even make a difference? He frowned at the waiting parchment. _Sod it_ , he thought, loading his quill with more ink.

Whenever Scorpius thought about the moon he thought about his seventh birthday. He knew it had to be his seventh because his parents had taken him to London to pick out seven presents. It was a tradition his mother insisted upon, and his father agreed on the condition that the cost of each individual present would gradually decrease as Scorpius got older. He’d woken up that morning with the number seven shining in his mind because, as he had told everyone, seven was more than six. 

Shortly after their arrival in Diagon Alley a stranger had tried to attack his father. It had taken four other wizards to restrain the man, who was wild-eyed and terrifying, howling as he fought to point his wand at Draco’s heart. Astoria had pulled Scorpius against her, yelling back at the man while his father stood protectively in front of them. They had left Diagon Alley empty-handed and ended up getting Scorpius’s presents from Muggle shops. This made his mother furious and Scorpius hadn’t been able to understand why. What was more confusing was that her anger seemed to be directed solely at his father, rather than the wizard who’d accosted them. His parents had spent the rest of the outing in tense silence with each other, speaking to him when they had to, their smiles painfully forced. Scorpius had felt no joy in making his selections, only a pressing desire to get it over with so that they could go home and his parents could return to normal.

It hadn’t worked. Upon returning to the Manor the three of them had had his birthday tea with cake and candles as usual, then Scorpius had been instructed to go play with his new toys, which always meant that his parents wanted to talk without him listening. He had gone into the garden, far enough away from the open windows of the sitting room that his parents would be confident he couldn’t hear them. As soon as he had heard their voices take up the conversation, however, he crept back, hiding among the thick dark leaves of the irises. 

The evening cooled into twilight around him and he’d watched the moon rise as his parents argued. It had been a full moon, bone white and impossibly large as it emerged from behind the trees. For the first time he had been able to understand what people meant when they talked about “the man in the moon”. He could see it suddenly, bruise-grey eyes looking upward and an open mouth, as though the moon was calling out for someone.

It would be awhile before he understood everything he’d overheard that night, about the war, his family, what his father was. For his seven-year-old self it had been enough to know that his father had done something terrible that he would never be forgiven for. That the man who’d tried to attack him wasn’t crazy or alone in his hatred, that many others would have done the same thing in a heartbeat if given the opportunity.

Scorpius put his elbows on the library table and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, wishing he could make his thoughts smaller, bloodless, like the textbook. He wasn’t even sure that he’d get full marks for what he’d written. It was just a memory; there wasn’t any big earth-shaking symbolism about that particular moon, at least not as far as he could see. _She’s the psychic,_ he thought tiredly, _let her figure it out._

The Slytherin common room was still crowded when he got back. He told himself that this was to be expected on a Friday night but that didn’t dull the resentment he felt towards his housemates. All of them seemed to be able to accept where they were, talking, laughing, playing chess and gobstones, doing their homework. He realized that Potter was watching him again from his usual table by the fire with Candy, his girlfriend according to people whose lives were clearly devoid of higher purpose. Scorpius rolled his eyes at them and stalked off to the dormitory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this week. I wrote this one a couple years ago and revising it (last night) was a bit of a hatchet job, but I'm so much happier with it now :)


	8. Healing Spells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Scorpius find some common ground, but making friends is hard sometimes (and the Hogwarts library is awesome).

Albus had never liked sleeping in. On Saturday morning the sounds of sleep were all he could hear in the darkness of the dormitory as he got out of bed and dressed, trying to find his shoes by the weak light of the single torch ensconced above the fireplace. He realized with an odd shiver that Scorpius’s bed was already empty, neatly made with its curtains drawn back. For some reason it made him feel as though the other boy were about to pop up behind him like a ghost or a murderer from a movie. Dismissing the idea he wondered, as he had several times before, where Scorpius hid himself away all the time.

The common room was empty and Albus climbed up onto the wide stone sill of one of the windows, putting a pillow between his back and the castle wall. He picked up the book he’d brought with him and began to read by wand light. It was an American book, about a boy and a slave sailing a great river on a raft. Albus’s parents had always smiled and shaken their heads at his love of Muggle books, but his Aunt Hermione nourished it with an enthusiasm that bordered on the fanatical, giving him a new book at every opportunity. This one, _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ , had come with the inscription _‘To Albus, Happy 11th Birthday! Love, Aunt Hermione’_.

As he read the darkness beyond the windows began to lighten. This was what he had come to watch, the slow shifts of color and light under the lake as the sun rose. He liked to pretend that he was in a submarine, like Captain Nemo in _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ (his gift from Aunt Hermione the Christmas before). Twice now he’d managed to glimpse a dark shape moving slowly in the depths of the murky bottle-green water, which he assumed must be the giant squid, but he still felt a thrill at the thought that even stranger things might be hidden in the lake and that he might be the first person to see them.

This morning proved to be uneventful, however, aside from a school of small silvery fish that rippled past the windows and sped off again. Other students were beginning to emerge; Albus waited until he spotted Candy before getting up and together they joined the mass exodus to the Great Hall in pursuit of breakfast. Afterwards Candy left to take a walk in the grounds and Albus headed back to the dormitory to retrieve his book bag, hoping to find a quiet spot in the library.

As he made his way along a second floor corridor Albus heard shouting up ahead, followed by a loud bang and a thud. He rounded the corner to see a gangly fifth-year sprawled on the floor, holding his bloody nose. Scorpius was braced against the wall opposite, pointing his wand at the two other fifth-years who were advancing on him.

“Say that again!” Scorpius spat, “Say it!”

One of the boys opened his mouth to retort but at that moment Professor Devereaux appeared at the end of the hall and came running towards them.

“Hey! Break it up, wands down, now!”

The three of them lowered their wands and the two older boys stepped back from Scorpius. Devereaux helped the boy on the floor to his feet and did a quick charm to stop the blood still coming out of his nose. 

“What’s going on here?”

The four boys glared at each other but said nothing. Devereaux sighed and turned to Albus.

“Are you a part of this?”

The fifth-year boys started, unaware that he had been watching, but Scorpius didn’t even turn his head. He was staring at the floor with a flush creeping up his neck.

“No, sir,” Albus replied.

Professor Devereaux folded his arms and looked around at the others.

“Fifty points from Slytherin, one hundred and fifty points from Hufflepuff. Now get where you were going.”

The older boys retreated, looking murderous, and disappeared from view as they rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Devereaux turned to Scorpius, who hadn’t moved. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Scorpius didn’t look at him.

“No, sir.”

Devereaux’s expression was sympathetic.

“If you ever want to talk, I’d be happy to listen.”

Scorpius didn’t respond and after a moment Devereaux turned and walked away. Soon he too was out of sight and Albus approached Scorpius hesitantly.

“Are you okay?”

Scorpius looked broken, the way he had after he’d been sorted. Blood was already darkening where his bottom lip had been split open and he finally looked up to meet Albus’s gaze.

“They said my mother was a Death Eater whore, that my father fucked her through the bars of his cell in Azkaban to make me.”

He looked away again. Albus couldn’t decide what was more surprising, the things that had been said or the fact that Scorpius was actually talking to him. Anger flared up inside of him and he pulled out his wand.

“Here,” he said, reaching out to lift up Scorpius’s chin and hold him steady.

Scorpius looked startled but allowed Albus to perform the healing spell. It was one that his mother had used on him the previous summer when he had fallen and cut his knee. Once the blood was cleaned away and the broken skin mended Albus let go of Scorpius and took a step back, feeling slightly awkward and hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder.

“Were you on your way to the library?”

Scorpius blinked.

“Yah, I was gonna do that Astronomy essay.”

“I need to start that too,” and, feeling as though he might be pushing his luck, “Did you want some company?”

Scorpius stared at him for a moment, his expression uncertain.

“Sure.”

They didn’t speak but Albus caught himself glancing at Scorpius out of the corner of his eye every now and then, as though confirming that they were indeed walking side by side without hostility. When they entered the library Madame Sylvestra watched them with narrowed eyes and Scorpius dipped his chin self-consciously as they walked past the checkout desk. 

Albus had only been in the library once before that week and was struck anew by how massive it was, with shelves upon shelves full of books stretching up to the high cathedral ceilings. It was full of hidden nooks and corners, created naturally by the stacks as well as the partial second and third floors, connected to the first by a seemingly random collection of staircases; a prominent marble one, two narrow wooden ones covered in laceworks of scratched graffiti, a delicate art nouveau spiral staircase which reportedly went missing from time to time, and two or three ladders which gave off an unreliable air and were therefore largely avoided.

Scorpius seemed to have a destination in mind so Albus followed him without comment. They took the marble staircase to the third floor and, by way of several labyrinthine twists and turns, arrived at an alcove with a small table tucked in next to a tall narrow window. Their view overlooked the castle itself, a forest of spires, parapets, and stonework. Scorpius set his bag down at the table while Albus looked out the window.

“Great spot,” Albus said quietly, although there was really no need. Other than a handful of diligently working students on the first floor the library seemed largely deserted. Scorpius gave him a small guarded smile but said nothing as he sat down and proceeded to take his books and supplies out of his bag. Albus followed suit and for a few minutes they were absorbed in the preparatory minutiae of their own study processes. They had been assigned a foot of parchment on the mechanics of telescopes and their application to star and planetary observation. 

“Or ‘stargazing’,” Scorpius muttered.

“She really has a problem with that, doesn’t she?”

Professor Demelza, who taught Astronomy, had unwittingly become a source of amusement by making it obvious that she detested any and all references to stargazing, as well as allusions to Astronomy as a “dreamy” subject. Scorpius grinned suddenly and Albus was taken aback by how different it made his face look.

“I heard that on Thursday the sixth-year Gryffindor class decided that they were going to try and see how many times they could ‘accidentally’ call it Astrology before she snapped.”

Albus’s mouth fell open.

“What happened?”

“She got so mad that the lenses in one of the telescopes spontaneously shattered and she ended up taking _two hundred and fifty points_ away from Gryffindor.”

Albus had to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

Scorpius was still smiling as they turned back to their textbooks. Once they got started Albus was gratified to discover that Scorpius was, like himself, a good student; meticulous, focused, and creative. He couldn’t help but compare it to doing homework with Candy and felt guilty to admit how much easier working with Scorpius was. Albus’s parents had always said that humility and hard work were more important than being clever, but it hadn’t always been easy advice for him to follow. Whenever he was in the company of someone like himself it was something of a relief. Scorpius seemed to feel the same way; the longer they worked the more freely and easily he spoke. Albus still wasn’t sure what exactly had brought about the change, but he relished it. They finished the Astronomy essay quickly and by lunchtime they were caught up on their homework and contemplating the possibility of working ahead.

“Most of the professors seem like they’re planning on going through chapter by chapter,” Scorpius said, considering his pile of textbooks, “even something as simple as reading the next chapters and taking notes on them would probably put us well ahead of the game.”

Albus rolled his quill between his fingers. An idea had been taking shape in his mind as they worked and now seemed like the appropriate moment to voice it.

“Do you think the professors would give points for that?”

Scorpius looked up at him, frowning.

“For extra credit work?”

“Yah.”

“Probably, why?”

“I was just thinking about what happened to Gryffindor, losing two-hundred and fifty points in a single class period,” he hesitated, “a few more stunts like that could end up costing them the House Cup.”

Scorpius tilted his head to the side a little.

“Especially if another house was putting an equal amount of effort into being good.” 

“Not necessarily being good,” Albus said, lowering his voice, “just doing more of what the teachers want.”

“Sucking up, in other words.”

Albus spread his hands in defense.

“When you say it like that it makes me sound like a prat.”

“You are a prat,” Scorpius said at once, but he was smiling and leaned forward with his arms folded on the table, “that doesn’t make it a bad idea, though.”

Albus mirrored his pose, lowering his voice even further.

“What if we could though? It’s only been a week and students from every single house have pulled a prank on one or more of the teachers, every house except-”

“Except Slytherin,” Scorpius finished.

“Exactly,” Albus whispered enthusiastically, “they’re all too busy keeping their heads down. We could steal the House Cup right out from under everyone’s noses just by being _less awful_ than the other houses.”

Scorpius raised his eyebrows, looking impressed.

“That’s a pretty sneaky plan for a Potter.”

“A Potter and a Slytherin.”

Scorpius sat back a little, looking at him with the appraising curiosity he’d become so used to.

“How did that happen anyway? I overheard people talking about it; the Hat didn’t sort you right away like it did for me.”

Albus shrugged.

“It said it couldn’t decide where to put me, so I told it to put me in Slytherin.”

Scorpius blinked, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach Albus realized that he’d made a terrible mistake.

“What?”

Albus faltered, knowing it was too late to take back what he had said but desperately wishing he could.

“It, it said I was harder to place, like my dad was,” he stammered.

The expression on Scorpius’s face was becoming colder by the second.

“So you told it to put you in Slytherin,” he said slowly.

Hopelessly trapped and unable to look away, Albus nodded. Scorpius was sitting back from the table now, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes burning with anger. 

“The Sorting Hat gave you the choice to be in any house you wanted, and you chose Slytherin.”

Albus bit the inside of his lip, frowning. Scorpius abruptly stood up, the feet of his chair scraping loudly against the floor and began stuffing his books back into his bag. He was blinking rapidly, his mouth set in a hard line and his jaw clenched.

“Scorpius-”

“Shut up,” he hissed, and Albus saw that his eyes were sparkling with tears, “I don’t wanna hear it, okay? You just get everything you want, don’t you?”

Albus opened his mouth to contradict this but then realized that he couldn’t. Scorpius flung his book bag over his shoulder and left without another word.


	9. Friends

That night Scorpius got in another fight. Albus and Candy were sitting at their customary table by the fire as the reports started to drift in with their housemates. 

“…came up to him outside the Great Hall…”

“…calling him a Deb and the usual stuff…”

“He just _freaked out._ ”

“…tried to cast a curse that missed…”

“…got hit with something that knocked him into the wall…”

“A professor came and took him up to the Hospital Wing.”

As details of the story accumulated Albus felt his heart sink lower and lower. He’d told Candy about what had happened with Scorpius in the library that afternoon and he could feel her watching him now as they listened. It wasn’t until she reached out and touched his arm that he realized she’d been speaking to him.

“What? Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said at once, “I was just wondering if you wanted to stop for tonight so you can go check on him.”

Albus smiled guiltily.

“If that’s okay with you.”

She withdrew her hand, looking embarrassed and a little impatient.

“I’m grateful for your help, but no one said you have to do it every night.”

Albus apologized again and thanked her before bringing his books back to his room and heading up to the Hospital Wing. Once he arrived he opened the door as quietly as he could and spotted Scorpius at once, lying on a cot at the far end of the long room. Through tall windows the last of the sunset could be seen cooling to purple along the jagged line of the dark mountains. Scorpius hadn’t looked over and Albus wondered with a twist of anxiety whether or not he was conscious. There was a small windowed office at the far end where Madame Pomfrey was sitting at her desk. She stood up when she caught sight of him and came out.

“Good evening Potter, did you need something?” 

“I just came to visit Scorpius.” 

She raised her eyebrows briefly at this with the same air of surprised interest that Hagrid had exhibited, and for the first time Albus realized why. _They don’t really see me and Scorpius,_ he thought, _not yet anyway. They see our dads._ Even though this realization made him feel somewhat uncomfortable he did his best to look politely expectant and she smiled at him.

“Of course,” she said, “He’s asleep right now but you can go and sit next to him if you’d like.”

She returned to her office with the practiced silence of a professional and Albus found himself trying to mimic her as he walked over to the chair next to Scorpius’s bed. Albus had never seen him asleep before and the effect was unsettling. Even when Scorpius was happy, as he had seemed to be in the library that afternoon, there was an odd intensity about him. For a moment Albus was struck by the impression that the boy in the hospital bed was someone else entirely. The white of the pillow and bedding combined with his pale skin and hair made him look like a ghost or a faded photograph. He looked vulnerable and Albus suddenly felt as though he was intruding. It was perhaps for this reason that he sat down a little harder than was necessary on the chair, making it creak in protest. Scorpius stirred at the sound and opened his eyes. When he saw Albus his face settled back into its familiar weary expression and he rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

“Potter, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I want to be your friend.”

Scorpius continued to glare at the ceiling without saying anything. Guessing that this was the most encouragement he was going to get given the circumstances Albus pressed on, hoping his voice was low enough that Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t be able to overhear him.

“You were right. It wasn’t fair that the hat gave me a choice when it didn’t give you one,” he hesitated, “That’s part of why I did it. I was sick of everyone acting like being in Slytherin means you’re already doomed, because it doesn’t.”

“Who told you that?”

Albus winced.

“My dad,” he admitted reluctantly.

Scorpius gave a small bitter laugh, still looking up at the ceiling.

“Easy for him to say. He’s the greatest hero the Wizarding world’s ever had. The most famous, the most noble, the most respected…” 

His voice trailed off into silence and Albus watched him, not knowing what to say. He’d heard people talk about his father this way for as long as he could remember, but it was strange to hear Scorpius say it. His thoughts were interrupted when he realized that Scorpius had turned his head to look at him, his eyes the color of stone in the lamplight and his expression serious.

“What would you do if you were me?”

Albus didn’t hesitate.

“I would fight.”

Scorpius laughed for real this time, a wonderful, unexpected sound that made Madame Pomfrey look up briefly from her work with an approving smile. The exertion of it seemed to be a little too much for him, however. Despite the fact that he was still smiling Albus noticed him wince as he put the palm of his left hand gingerly over his ribs. 

“Professor Robins better give me top marks then, ‘cuz I’ve already been following that advice.”

Albus rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Not fighting like that. I just meant that if everyone told me I was destined to turn out bad, I would do everything I could to prove them wrong. I would want to be so good that I would make everyone else see that the people who wrote me off were the bad ones. That would be the perfect revenge.”

Albus sat back in his chair after this pronouncement. He loved those moments in which he was able to say exactly what he wanted to say the way he wanted to say it. Scorpius was watching him with a somewhat amused expression.

“The perfect revenge,” he repeated thoughtfully. He looked back at the ceiling and winced again, this time as though it was his head that hurt.

“What happened?”

Scorpius sighed.

“My curse missed. They only hit me with a Leg-Locker but we were on the stairs; I went straight down and hit my head against that big marble post at the bottom. Cracked my ribs at some point. Madame Pomfrey told me that Professor Hagrid carried me here but I don’t remember it.”

Albus made a mental note to thank Hagrid the next time he saw him.

“Who cursed you?” 

“Rowley. Third-year Gryffindor.”

Albus looked away again, feeling guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “I’m sorry for what I said in the library.”

“Why?” Scorpius asked, frowning.

“When I heard what happened, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, if I hadn’t said it and you hadn’t gotten mad-”

For a moment Scorpius looked as though he wanted nothing more than to let Albus take the blame, but then he relented.

“I asked the question and you answered. It’s still not fair but,” he paused, not quite meeting Albus’s gaze, “it was nice having someone to study with for a change.”

Albus tried not to smile too broadly, sensing that this admission had cost Scorpius a great deal of pride. Instead he tried to change the subject.

“Has she said when she’s going to let you out of here?”

“Tomorrow morning sometime. She just wants to keep me here for observation tonight to make sure I don’t go into a coma or anything.”

Albus nodded and stood up.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Scorpius looked up at him and for the tiniest fraction of a second Albus could have sworn that he didn’t want him to go.

“Yep, see you tomorrow.”

Albus was halfway back to the door before a thought occurred to him and he turned back with a smile.

“Does this mean that we’re friends now?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes and groaned.

“ _Yes_ Potter, now bugger off before I change my mind.”

Madame Pomfrey stuck her head out of her office.

“ _Language,_ Mr. Malfoy.”

Albus laughed and left the Hospital Wing.


	10. The Dream of the Breaking Statue

Scorpius was lost in a castle that looked like Hogwarts but didn’t feel like it. This castle felt older and alive, as though the stones forming its walls were the living hearts of the mountains they had been carved from, as though Scorpius would feel their blood pulsing under his fingertips if he touched them. He was sick with terror because something was there in the castle with him, just out of sight, stalking him, the very worst thing in the world. 

Every time he thought he had found something he recognized, a staircase, a painting, a classroom, it would change and become unfamiliar again the second he blinked or looked away. He was starting to panic but he knew that if he ran the thing pursuing him would run too, and it was much faster than he was. Close to tears he turned a corner and saw that he had found the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, standing by itself in front of a window in a small circular alcove. He started to walk over to it but then froze. He’d gotten it wrong somehow. The statue wasn’t facing him, as he had thought when he first saw it. It was looking out the window, and it wasn’t Rowena Ravenclaw. 

There was a deep thud as a door closed behind him and Scorpius spun around to see that the alcove had become a tower room. He was shaking all over because it had been a trick. The thing inside the castle had lured him there and now he was trapped. The statue was still looking out the window and Scorpius knew that he had to go to it, had to see who it was even though the world would end and his heart would break. He began to walk forward. The figure was wearing a long flowing cloak, its hood pulled up so that he would have to step in front of it to see its face. He was very close now, less than a foot away, about to take the final step, when a great breaking sound like the fracture of a planetary core came from the depths of the statue and the room was suddenly filled with the deafening buzz of every insect and every snake. Scorpius screamed and staggered backwards, trying to shield himself with his arms because it was coming, it was coming any second-

Then everything went quiet. 

Someone was touching him.

He opened his eyes.

It was Albus, touching his face, lifting his chin to look up. They were still trapped in the room with the breaking statue. He could still feel the drone of the insects and snakes and knew it was only a matter of time, but he had stopped shaking.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

Albus let go of his face and there was a fierce, unafraid look in his green eyes. He took a step closer and Scorpius felt his stomach jump strangely. Albus smiled.

“We’re going to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post today since this chapter's so short. When I was working on this story during the last Nanowrimo I decided I was going to have a series of these dreams within it and they've become one of my favorite parts of the whole thing :)


	11. An Academic Cabal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus's plan gets put into action.

Albus was deeply grateful that his friendship with Scorpius was only newsworthy for a week or so. Once people realized that they were mostly just doing their homework together the whispers and covert glances dropped off dramatically. If anything Albus got the impression that his schoolmates were vaguely disappointed that Scorpius hadn’t shown any interest in making Candy and Albus sacrifice chickens or poison people or whatever it was they thought eleven-year-old Dark wizards did. The only real exception to this general dismissal was James. He had managed to catch Albus between classes the week after Scorpius got out of the Hospital Wing, jerking his head for Albus to follow him into an empty classroom.

“So is two weeks the standard amount of time you’ll be ignoring me whenever I piss you off?” Albus had asked as the door closed behind them, his arms folded across his chest. James had ignored the question and interrupted him halfway through.

“What’re you doing, Al?’

“What do you mean?”

James rolled his eyes impatiently.

“What’re you doing hanging out with Malfoy?”

Albus stood a little straighter and lifted his chin even though it didn’t change the fact that James was still a foot taller than him.

“He’s my friend.”

James was quiet for a moment, then frowned and looked at his shoes, his hands in his pockets.

“Look, Al,” he said slowly, “I’m…I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for ignoring you and writing to Dad about you being in Slytherin.”

The only times Albus could remember James apologizing to him were ones of deep coercion (usually from their mother), where every word he spoke held the promise of imminent retribution. Watching him now, the color rising to his freckled cheeks, Albus realized that James was actually worried about him. He uncrossed his arms and tried to match his brother's conciliatory tone.

“Thanks for that, but I didn’t do it to get back at you or anything.”

James looked up at him, confused. Albus shrugged and went on.

“He seemed like he could use a friend so I asked, and it turns out he’s not bad, James, we-” he paused, feeling awkward; “we actually have a lot in common.”

“Like what?” James scoffed.

“If you’ve already made up your mind you don’t deserve to know,” Albus snapped, losing his patience and turning to leave.

“Al, wait-”

“Sod off, I’m gonna be late for class.”

James grabbed his arm and Albus clenched his teeth, ready to row.

“Just, promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“ _He’s not evil._ ”

“Maybe not yet-”

Albus had groaned in disgust, yanking his arm away and leaving the room before James could finish. They hadn’t spoken since and the more Albus got to know Scorpius the more mystified he was at his brother’s attitude. Sure, Scorpius wasn’t sociable, but that wasn’t the same thing as being a mean person. In fact, Albus was noticing that people tended to like Scorpius, if and when he let them. As though it made their friendship official Albus had brought Scorpius to meet Hagrid, who was clearly devoted to him after the first ten minutes. Given that Hagrid sang lullabies to his pumpkins this wasn’t really surprising, but Albus still considered it a victory, especially since the feeling seemed to be mutual. 

When Albus had introduced Scorpius to Candy it had been a little awkward at first, but after a while he sensed that Scorpius saw the same things in Candy that he did; her consideration, her easy acceptance of others, and her determination. Although they’d never discussed it, Candy’s struggle to keep up with their schoolwork was understood between the three of them and Albus was relieved to discover that Scorpius could be supremely tactful. Not only that, but he seemed naturally inclined to teaching, especially when it came to hands-on things like wandwork and Potions. He was the only one who had been able to persuade Candy onto a broom during their first flying lesson, even going so far as to let her grip his hand when she finally made it off the ground, which had earned him ten points from Professor Thorburn. Scorpius had glanced over at Albus and winked, smiling.

By October the three of them were waging a stealth war for House points. Once Albus and Scorpius began to tentatively approach their friendlier professors about extra credit work they were amazed at the enthusiasm of the response. Perhaps to reward and encourage their camaraderie they were given lists of recommended reading, essay suggestions, and experiments to conduct. They helped Professor Demelza polish telescopes and then spent a freezing night on top of the Astronomy tower helping her take notes on a meteor shower. They helped Jonas, the apprentice groundskeeper, build a hutch for Bumper that ended up being a third the size of Hagrid’s hut. Albus committed to cleaning it out every weekend, which ended up being a much bloodier job than he could have ever imagined when he made the offer. Madame Sylvestra made Scorpius a “deputy librarian”, but the role seemed to consist largely of scraping gum off the undersides of things. 

Once Candy learned that there was plenty of non-academic work that the teachers were willing to give points for she came on board and seemed to take pride in her efforts for the first time. Of the three of them she had the most luck with their more difficult teachers. Even the most suspicious and guarded, like Professor Gagnon, their Latin teacher, grudgingly relented in the face of Candy’s guileless sincerity. 

“Probably because she’s a girl,” Albus whispered to Scorpius as they watched Professor Gagnon show Candy the correct way to dust his vast collection of rare books. Scorpius looked thoughtful.

“I think it’s because they want her to feel good about herself.”

“Maybe,” Albus conceded, then, “What about Robins?”

Scorpius looked startled.

“What about her?”

“I bet she would find something to give us points for.”

The other boy made a noncommittal noise, folding his arms across his chest.

“Probably.”

“You should be the one to ask her though.”

“Why me?” Scorpius asked at once, frowning. Albus shrugged.

“Because you’re top of the class in Divination, and her favorite, that’s obvious.”

To Albus’s surprise Scorpius blushed deep red at this but nodded stoutly, his eyes fixed on Professor Gagnon, who was watching Candy handle one of his books with an expression of barely contained anxiety.

“Alright, I’ll ask her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter I've reached a section of the story that I haven't already written. I'm gonna do my best to work ahead so that I have time to revise and edit before I post, but I'm apologizing ahead of time if it gets a little rough in parts. I don't want each year at Hogwarts to be its own book-length entity, so I'm trying to plot out and focus on what I need to move the larger story. At the same time I want to have fun-I had a ball last Saturday coming up with all my Hogwarts professors and figuring out which classes they're going to teach, so I'm looking forward to finding ways to include them :)


	12. The Tower Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius finally meets with Professor Robins to discuss her plans for him.

As the end of Divination class approached Scorpius could feel Albus glancing at him and knew that the other boy was resisting the urge to remind him about the plan to approach Robins. Annoyed, Scorpius focused on their assignment. The class had broken into groups to practice Dream Interpretation, identifying and analyzing the symbols in a sample dream from their textbook. They were good at it in different ways, Scorpius noticed. Candy understood which images were important, but struggled to explain why, and Albus had a hard time spotting the symbols but could extrapolate on them fairly well once he knew what they were. Scorpius had appointed himself the recorder; letting the other two do most of the talking while he tried not to think too much about his own dreams. 

Once class was over Professor Robins had them line up at her desk to hand back their assignments from the week before and Scorpius deliberately lagged behind, ensuring that he was last. Albus nodded at him conspiratorially as he and Candy left the classroom and Scorpius did his best to smile back. When Robins handed him his paper Scorpius saw that she’d given him full marks as usual. She was twisting a thin silver ring on her right index finger and watching him carefully. 

“Was there something else, Professor?” he asked, although he thought he already knew.

She folded her hands together and sat up a little straighter.

“Scorpius, I think you should be receiving special instruction outside of class.”

He felt himself tense and tried to cover it by putting his paper in his book bag.

“But I already have top marks.”

Robins tilted her head to the side a little, her expression shrewd.

“Then the extra work shouldn’t be a challenge for you. Besides,” she continued slowly, “from what I’ve heard you and your friends have been very keen on extra credit work lately.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning down slightly.

“Of course not, I just wanted to assure you that if you did agree to individual instruction you would naturally receive points for your time.”

“What would happen,” Scorpius said after a moment, “if I said yes?”

It was clear that she was trying not to smile as she answered.

“We would schedule a time to meet. I would tell you more about the instruction I have in mind, do some simple tests, and if it seems like something you’re interested in we’ll go from there.”

There was a pause in which Scorpius struggled with himself.

“Alright then,” he said finally.

 

~

 

It wasn’t difficult to come up with a story for Albus and Candy. He included as much of the truth as he could and didn’t feel all that guilty about not telling them the rest. After all, it wasn’t as though Robins had said _why_ she wanted him to have special instruction, and it wasn’t a question that Scorpius was eager to ask. Their first session had been scheduled for that Saturday morning and as Scorpius put his hand on the rung of the ladder leading up to Robins’ office he paused to take a deep breath, unsure as to why he was still so nervous. 

When he pushed open the trap door in the ceiling and climbed through he blinked in surprise. The circular tower room was full of plants and so covered in pictures and tapestries that he could hardly see the wall. Evenly spaced narrow windows filled the room with sunlight, making the multitude of leaves and flowers glow. Rather than a desk there was a circular wooden table in the middle of the room where Professor Robins was sitting in a heavy-looking wooden chair. She stood up and smiled when she saw him.

“Good afternoon, Scorpius, please have a seat.”

She gestured to the empty chair that had been pulled up to the other side of the table. It had a curved back that made Scorpius feel as though the chair was holding him, the cushion upholstered with squashy olive-green velvet. Robins had gone over to the far side of the room where a white hutch stocked with dishes, tea, biscuits, a fruit bowl and an electric kettle stood between two massive potted plants.

“I’m making tea if you want a cuppa.”

“Yes please.”

The more Scorpius studied the room the more things he found to look at, although it didn’t feel cluttered. Everything had been pushed back against the wall; bookcases, shelves of strange objects, a pot of glossy dark-leaved vines which had been allowed to climb up over the wall behind a large overstuffed chair, making it look like a throne. Professor Robins brought over a polished wooden tray laden with tea things. As usual she was wearing Muggle clothes, worn jeans and a Scandinavian jumper patterned in blue and white. When she set the tray on the table Scorpius saw that the inside of it was covered in a swirling golden design.

“Do you like it?” Robins asked, following his gaze as she set his tea before him.

He nodded.

“What is it?”

“Arabic,” she said, taking everything off the tray so he could see it better, “Their calligraphy is an art form going back centuries,” her fingertips traced the golden swirls, “these are the letters, all woven together.”

“Can you read it?”

She smiled and sat down.

“No, all I know is that it’s a prayer from the Koran.”

He studied the tray.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, then realized he’d spoken aloud and felt embarrassed.

“I think so too,” she said, adding a slice of lemon to her tea, “and it meant something to the person who made it. Sometimes when you touch an object you can feel that, catch a glimpse of the people who’ve loved it before you.”

Scorpius turned his attention to adding sugar to his own tea, feeling uncomfortable with her use of the word _you_. They sat in silence for a moment, preparing their tea, and Scorpius felt some of his anxiety ease away. He could smell the plants around them, the soil in their pots, tea and lemons. Professor Robins took a sip from her cup and cleared her throat quietly.

“Scorpius, I want to help you develop your aptitude for Divination.”

He replaced his cup in its saucer.

“Why?”

“Because I think you might have Second Sight.”

She said it gently but he still felt something inside of him shrink back. 

“Why do you think that?” he asked carefully.

There was a delicate clink as she put down her tea and folded her hands together in her lap.

“You have an intuitive understanding of the subject that I’ve never seen in a student before, regardless of age or intellectual ability.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. As though she’d read his mind (and he supposed she could have) Robins went on. 

“I understand your reluctance, Scorpius, I really do, but this isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s a profound gift that doesn’t come around very often.”

Scorpius took another sip of his tea.

“You said something about tests?”

“Yes,” she said, sitting up a little straighter, “but really I’m just going to ask you some questions, ok?”

He nodded.

“Do you ever feel like you know what’s about to happen, and then it does?”

Scorpius frowned, thinking. She was watching him expectantly and he couldn’t think of anything. 

“I don’t know,” he said, feeling frustrated, “what does that even mean? When you see dark clouds you don’t have to be psychic to guess that it’s probably going to rain.”

She nodded, and he could tell she was backing up, not wanting to upset him.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to have an answer to all of these. I’ll give you an example. When I was a teenager I would have moments every now and then when…when I just realized that what was happening was familiar, like I’d seen it in a movie or a dream. I knew that someone was going to start talking about politics and someone else was going to get upset, things like that, but it took me years of practice to turn those flashes of foreknowledge into a skill.”

Scorpius didn’t reply, looking down at the prayer on the tea tray, and she went on.

“Do you tend to win arguments?”

He looked up at her and she smiled encouragingly.

“Why do you think that is, Scorpius?”

“I just,” he swallowed and started again, “I guess…I can tell what people are trying to do, like if they’re trying to get something, or if there’s something they’re trying to hide.”

He was thinking about his first conversation with Albus, how he’d known exactly what to say to put the other boy in his place. The memory made him feel ashamed now. Had he read Albus’s mind? Robins was watching him sympathetically and he picked up his teacup again to have something in front of his face.

“Have you ever met someone and gotten an impression about them that you couldn’t explain? An image or a phrase?” She asked.

Scorpius nodded.

“Can you tell me about that?”

He hesitated, eyeing the wild dark curls framing her face.

“Your hair,” he muttered, embarrassed, “it makes me think of crows.”

At once he knew that he had said something significant, although her expression didn’t change.

“The color?” she suggested.

_She’s testing me_ , he thought.

“No,” he tried to concentrate, fighting the urge to close his eyes because it made him feel like a boardwalk fortune teller, “it’s not the color, it’s…movement, and noise, like lots of crows flapping and cawing all at once.”

Professor Robins’ smile was growing as he spoke, and he saw the same excitement in her face that he’d noticed after his first Divination class.

“What?” he asked.

“When I was six my parents brought me to a park and I was throwing bread to the ducks when this flock of crows suddenly came down on me. I was so terrified; I started wailing for my mum and dad and suddenly there was this rush inside of me, and all of the crows were pushed away, like someone had turned on an enormous fan. That was the first time I remember doing magic.”

Scorpius blinked at her.

“So…does that-that means I have…Second Sight?”

“I would say I’m about ninety-nine point nine percent sure,” her enthusiasm softened a little, “do you think it’s something you might want to explore?”

She waited patiently while he considered this.

“Would everyone have to know?” he asked finally.

“I just have to inform the Headmistress so she can approve the lessons, but other than that no one else has to know if you don’t want them to.”

Scorpius nodded, debating with himself. He couldn’t deny that he was curious, that the idea of spending time with Professor Robins in this beautiful, peaceful room was appealing, not to mention the points he would earn. _But it’s so lame_ , a separate part of his brain argued, _of all the things you could be good at, Divination? Really?_ There was something else still bothering him.

“How could you tell? About me, I mean?”

She was trying not to smile again as she took another sip of her tea.

“Maybe you didn’t catch the part where I have Second Sight too?” then, “It really was your reaction to the mandala. They help to focus energy, and when I’m looking at one with another Seer I can feel it, the extra energy that isn’t mine,” she studied his face for a moment and then nodded towards his hands.

“You play an instrument.”

Completely caught off-guard, Scorpius smiled.

“You can tell that? Which instrument?”

Robins crossed her legs, grinning at him.

“Let’s see, put ‘um up.”

Scorpius lifted his hands, spreading his fingers. Robins narrowed her eyes.

“The piano,” she said confidently, and Scorpius’s smile widened. 

“How long have you played?”

He put his hands down again, feeling relieved to be talking about music.

“My mum started me at it as soon as I could sit up on my own.”

Robins smiled.

“She taught you herself?”

“Yah.”

“What’s your favorite music to play?”

“I love Beethoven,” he said at once, “but I like Bach and Vivaldi a lot too, and Schubert.”

They spent the next hour talking about everything except Divination. Scorpius learned that Professor Robins also taught Art as an elective to a handful of older students and that she lived by herself in a village near Nottingham. When it was his turn to talk he hesitated at first but she listened and asked questions as though she didn’t know anything about his family’s history, even though he knew she must. Talking to her almost made him feel as though none of that mattered and the gratitude he felt was profound. Before he left they arranged to meet at the same time every other Saturday and Robins gave him his first assignment, which to his surprise turned out to be that he start keeping a journal.

“What should I write about?”

She tilted her head a little.

“It’s tempting to say ‘whatever you want’, but I do want you to challenge yourself, so it should be more than what you eat every day. Writing will help you start to see how your mind works, the details it latches onto and the connections it makes. Memories, feelings, your relationships with other people, dreams, the more substantial things I guess you could say.”

They were both standing now and Scorpius shifted uncomfortably, hitching his book bag higher onto his shoulder.

“Are you going to read it?”

“Only if you want me to, like I said it’s mostly to help you start thinking about some of the things we’ll be discussing as we go on,” she paused, “Do you already have a spare notebook or do you need one?”

He blinked and looked up at her, frowning.

“You already know I don’t have one.”

She looked taken aback for a moment, then smiled.

“I do, but it’s important to let people speak for themselves,” she raised an eyebrow, “You’ll learn that soon enough.”

The journal she gave him was small enough to fit in the pocket of his robes and the brown leather covers were embossed with more swirling gold script.

“Since you liked the tea tray,” she said as she handed it to him.


	13. Mother Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus's mission to win the House Cup gets some unexpected help.

Winter came to the mountains slowly that year, so mild in fact that it seemed like a longer fall without the leaves. Sleet and rain kept everyone indoors and the restlessness was beginning to show as the end of first term drew near. Fights, pranks, and vandalism were occurring on an almost daily basis as half the student body tried to blow off steam before finals while the other half went spare studying. Madame Sylvestra was rumored to be hiding a flask behind the circulation desk and Jaime Waldroup, the assistant caretaker, looked as though he not only expected a violent assault on his person but welcomed it. It was unclear how old he was (anything from eighteen to forty was completely plausible) or where he came from because no one could understand a word he said or what language he was speaking. Built like a plough horse with small bright eyes and close-cropped red hair that looked as though he cut it himself with a dull knife, the only thing Albus could say about him with absolute certainty was that Jaime knew exactly how many students he would take with him to Hell if and when the day of reckoning came. Filch loved him like a son.

The pair of them had just finished dispersing, with profound vitriol, a cluster of dawdling Hufflepuffs from the entrance hall when Albus went to check the House points. He waited until Filch and Jaime had stalked out of sight before approaching the alcove where the four large hourglasses stood. The bottom bulb of each was roughly halfway full and the gems inside were so small and numerous that it was almost impossible to gauge what the actual tally was. Albus paced between the four of them in contemplation. If he had to guess he would have said that Gryffindor had the least, but if that was the case it was only by a small margin and he couldn’t have said who had the most. Stones were moving almost constantly within the glasses like sparkling multi-colored rain as he watched.

“Cracked the code yet?”

Scorpius had appeared at his side and Albus half turned his head towards him.

“Who’s in Charms right now?”

“Fourth-year Ravenclaws, I think.”

“I knew it, look,” Albus took a step towards the Ravenclaw hourglass, pointing to the steady downward trickle of mazarine, “Professor Friel must be in a good mood.”

Scorpius smiled and shook his head.

“I think watching the points is slowly driving you mad. Come on, we’re gonna be late for Devereaux.”

Albus grinned and turned away, hitching his book bag higher on his shoulder as he followed Scorpius. 

History of Magic Discussion Group was their most informal class; Professor Devereaux insisted on arranging their desks in a circle and encouraged as much group discussion as possible, talking to them like a friend rather than a teacher. The most remarkable thing about this approach was that for the most part it worked. He managed to make the material bearable and Professor Binns had no idea that his class was being supplemented. The other Slytherins seemed to regard him with a kind of quiet trust which Albus attributed to the fact that he was Head of their house. Devereaux had taken one of the desks in the circle and was shuffling his notes together, a fringe of sandy blonde hair obscuring his boyishly handsome face. Albus and Scorpius were among the last to arrive, taking the seats Candy had saved for them as the other students settled in. 

“Was he trying to count the points again?” Candy whispered to Scorpius.

“Yes. It’s sad, really.”

They both grinned at him and Albus rolled his eyes, opening his textbook so that it hid his mouth from Marcus, who was eyeing them from across the circle.

“Whatever,” he whispered back, “you two can take the mickey all you want once we win the House Cup.”

Before either of them could answer Devereaux cleared his throat for their attention and began the lesson. For reasons that were known only to himself Professor Binns had been skipping around in their textbook that term and was currently plowing through a chapter on the struggles of the Wizarding communities in Spain during the Francoist regime. What made the chapter more tiresome than most was that the author had neglected to provide translations for several passages that were in Spanish.

“Hey, I didn’t pick the book,” Devereaux said, holding up his hands in response to their grumbling, “I know there’s at least one Spanish to English dictionary in the library, did anyone try to translate them?”

Silence greeted this question as most of the students stared at him incredulously. Scorpius caught Albus’s eye and raised his eyebrows. They’d discussed it, but even with Devereaux teaching History of Magic was a difficult class to summon enthusiasm for. Devereaux smiled ruefully.

“Well I know what we’re doing today.”

There was more grumbling as everyone readied their parchment and quills for notes. 

“Lucky for you,” Devereaux continued, “I have an assistant. Candy?”

He said it so casually that for a moment Albus didn’t register the question. Everyone turned towards Candy who sat up a little straighter, the color rising to her cheeks as she nodded.

“Can you start by reading that first bit on page one twenty-five out loud for us?”

Albus barely had time to feel a rush of anxiety for her before Candy turned to her book and began to read in perfect, fluent Spanish. An electric current of surprise traveled through the room as their classmates glanced at each other in confusion. Albus and Scorpius looked at each other again, wide-eyed. When Candy finished everyone was still looking between her and Devereaux, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“Thank you, Candy,” he said, as though nothing unusual had happened, “Like I said before class I’m a little rusty, so let me know if my translation’s off, and I expect everyone to be writing this down in their notes.”

They did, the tips of their quills scratching quietly as Devereaux and Candy went through each passage in the chapter. Several times he consulted her on his translation and she responded dutifully, not looking at any of them. When they were done Devereaux awarded her ten points for each passage, a staggering sixty points in total. Although she was still blushing Candy smiled at this, looking down quickly at her book as though trying to conceal her pride. The lesson continued and perhaps Devereaux could tell that most of them were still too distracted by what had happened to concentrate, because he dismissed them a few minutes early. 

Candy was slow to put her things away, no doubt to avoid questions from their classmates, many of whom began whispering to each other immediately, casting obvious glances at the three of them as they left. In unspoken solidarity Albus and Scorpius took their time as well. As they were standing to leave Devereaux came over to them, beaming.

“That went really well.”

“Thank you sir,” Candy replied, smiling again. Devereaux looked at Albus and Scorpius.

“And I wanted to thank you two as well; Candy says you’ve been helping her with her schoolwork.”

They both nodded. Albus wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m giving you each ten points, for showing the best of what a Slytherin can be.”

They thanked him and Albus had to struggle to contain himself until they got to the hallway.

“Eighty points in one class period, that was _brilliant!_ ” He said, turning to Candy.

“Keep your voice down,” Scorpius muttered, trying not to smile and glancing around them. 

“What was that all about? How do you speak Spanish?”

Candy looked puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Scorpius elbowed him with a look as though Albus was being rude and Candy blushed again.

“Oh, my mum’s Mexican. My dad brought her here before I was born and she’s, she doesn’t like speaking English.”

“Oh,” Albus echoed awkwardly, “Well that’s brilliant! Knowing two languages.”

She smiled at him. Scorpius was frowning a little.

“How did Devereaux find out?” He asked.

Candy stood up a little straighter.

“We were talking about my schoolwork, and he just asked. He said he grew up in Spain; he could tell, I guess, about me,” she paused, then, “and he said he’s going to start putting together a tutoring group, so you won’t have to help me so much.”

“We don’t mind,” Albus said at once, and she nodded.

“I know. It’ll be good though, plus I’ll get extra points for participating.”

Scorpius grinned.

“Now that you’ve said that Albus’ll probably pay to not help.”

Albus shoved him while Candy laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit the wall hard with this chapter. I think the reason is that I came up with it early on in the process of developing this story and only ever had a rough idea for what I wanted it to be. As I was trying to flesh out what I'd already written I realized that it wasn't working and it took me most of the week to admit that it needed to be changed and then come up with something that felt better. (Originally Candy didn't know that Devereaux was going to ask for her help and all of the exposition about her background happens between the four of them after class. It sucked.) So even though it took longer than it should have I'm much happier with it now.


	14. Christmas at the Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius goes home for winter break. A significant piece of Wizarding legislation is enacted and the Malfoys have a deeply uncomfortable family dinner.

Gossip about Candy’s heritage was fairly muted and fell out of circulation quickly during the last weeks of the term, most likely due to the fact that she didn’t seem particularly sensitive about it, answering questions with a generosity that Scorpius couldn’t help but envy. Privately he thought that it might bother her more than she was letting on, but this was never apparent in her interactions. Devereaux’s tutoring group met twice a week and consisted, according to Candy, of a handful of first, second, and third-year students from every house. When she studied with Albus and Scorpius now she worked on her own for the most part, presumably saving her questions for Devereaux so that she wouldn’t have to ask them. 

All three of them felt the pressure of finals more acutely perhaps than their classmates because in addition to their regular coursework they were still handling a complex schedule of extra credit work for most of the professors in the castle. Since Scorpius was still unwilling to tell anyone about his sessions with Robins he’d arranged for the three of them to take turns watering and tending to the plants in her office. As far as he could tell Albus didn’t suspect a thing, but every now and then he caught Candy giving him a thoughtful look when the subject came up.

He and Albus were both confident that they had done well on their finals but tried to downplay this for Candy’s sake, who had gone into every test with an expression of grim resignation. Of the three of them Albus seemed to be the only one who was genuinely excited to go home for Christmas break and his optimistic enthusiasm carried Scorpius and Candy along as it always did until they parted ways, Candy disembarking from the Hogwarts Express at Leeds and Albus and Scorpius at King’s Cross.

When the train pulled into the station Scorpius spotted his mother at once. As always she was the most conspicuously elegant person in the crowd; her tailored travelling clothes and pheasant feather hat would have looked like a costume on anyone else. She was scanning the train for him, looking excited, and he was unsurprised to see that his father had not accompanied her. It wasn’t until they’d gotten off the train and he felt Albus tug his sleeve that he noticed a small crowd coming towards them. The only person he recognized was Harry Potter and his stomach dropped. He watched self-consciously as Albus was scooped into half a dozen hugs and in dizzying succession Scorpius found himself being introduced to the entire family. Albus did this rather grandly with a hint of defiance which made Scorpius even more aware of the fact that he was a Malfoy. 

Astoria had joined them on the platform, introducing herself and pulling off her brown doeskin gloves to shake their hands. Scorpius was grateful for her easy confidence and gracious smile as he tried not to feel so awkward. Albus’s family greeted both of them cordially and Scorpius didn’t want to speculate on what they might really be thinking. As they were about to leave Albus hugged him and Scorpius was so surprised that he didn’t know how to respond when Albus let go, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he beamed at Scorpius, or when the other boy looked back to wave at him a minute later from the midst of the crowd.

Astoria and Scorpius Apparated just inside the large ironwork gates of the Malfoy estate. His mother was a great proponent of exercise and insisted that the mile-long walk from the gate to the Manor was the best way to recover one’s equilibrium after Apparition. Twilight deepened as they walked side by side down the lane and in spite of himself Scorpius took comfort from the familiarity of the bare trees and the wide lawns, of the Manor itself, rising up ahead of them like an immense stone cake, its multitude of windows catching the last light as night fell and the stars came out. He could see his mother looking at him with a little smile out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” 

“Albus Potter seems very devoted to you.”

Scorpius felt himself blush and hoped it was too dark for her to tell. 

“I guess.”

Once they reached the front door house elves came to open it for them, taking their coats and Scorpius’s trunk once it had been taken out of Astoria’s handbag and magically restored to its true size. Draco came into the entrance hall and Scorpius was alarmed by the sight of him. He seemed to have aged years, pale and drawn in dark clothes that looked too big for him. As usual he gave Scorpius a small brief smile, not quite looking at him with his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. Scorpius responded in kind and they ended up greeting each other like they were strangers who happened to have a friend in common.

Given that he had spent the day travelling Scorpius was given permission to turn in early. He said goodnight to his parents and retreated to his rooms with a sense of relief, walking through them by wand light as though confirming that everything was as he’d left it. A house elf brought a tray with his dinner and he ate sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the marble fireplace in his sitting room. As he fell asleep in his dark bedroom watching the night sky beyond the leaded windows Scorpius was finally glad to be home.

It was almost midday when he woke and almost at once he realized that something significant had happened while he slept. There was no breakfast tray waiting for him and as he ventured out into the corridor he could feel a heightened current of activity even though the third floor was silent. As he descended through the Manor the story came to him in pieces from the various house elves scurrying around, completely oblivious to him. Something called the House Elf Representation Act had passed the Wizengamont the day before and Ministry representatives had been dispatched all over the country that morning to make sure it was being communicated and enforced.

The lower levels of Malfoy Manor were still in a state of quiet uproar hours later when Scorpius joined his parents in the formal dining room for tea. He couldn’t help but notice that some of the candles were long overdue for replacement and some were unlit. The first course was skipped altogether and his fish was full of bones. His parents were at either end of the long table and from where Scorpius sat between them he caught his mother discreetly bringing her napkin to her mouth every few bites and his father grimacing slightly as he chewed. A different house elf brought out each course and all of them were so distracted that they barely seemed aware of what they were doing. Scorpius could tell that his mother was waiting until the elf carrying the silver water pitcher had left the room before she spoke.

“Have you made any travel arrangements for the ones who are leaving?”

Draco finished chewing before he looked up at her. 

“Most will be using the Floo Network. I’ve asked them to prepare a list of destinations and group together if they can to save powder. Further transportation will be provided to those that need it.”

Astoria watched him in silence. Her long dark hair had been pinned up with jeweled combs and she was wearing a midnight blue velvet gown with black satin gloves which she’d removed and placed in her lap. There was no softness in Astoria’s beauty; whenever Scorpius looked at her he saw strength, whether she was at the piano, striding through a crowd, or watching his father as she was now, her large brown eyes missing nothing. 

“How many can we afford to keep?” She asked, slicing her lamb.

The tiniest movement of his father’s head told Scorpius that Draco didn’t want to be having this conversation in front of him.

“One. Mouse has requested to stay; I’ve already asked Martin to prepare the contract.”

Astoria put down her silverware and sat back from the table a little.

“I agree that they deserve wages and legal protection but there must be something you can do, Draco.”

When he didn’t reply she went on.

“You could still file an appeal for a stipend increase.”

A familiar sense of resignation settled over Scorpius. It was an argument they had had many times before. His father closed his eyes briefly before answering, his voice steady.

“We’ve already discussed this.”

“But circumstances have changed,” her expression was earnest, “How are we going to maintain the house and the grounds? By the time Scorpius comes of age he’ll be inheriting a _ruin_.”

Scorpius was making patterns in his baked potato with the tines of his fork, wishing break was already over so that he could go back to Hogwarts. It felt strange not having Albus nearby.

“I think you’re exaggerating,” Draco said.

Astoria put her plate aside impatiently.

“You’ve done everything the Ministry has asked of you and they should be reminded of that.”

Three house elves came in to clear away their plates and Scorpius noticed Mouse as she took his, her gaze respectfully averted. She was one of the older elves and he wondered why she wanted to stay. Was it because she had nowhere else to go?

Three more elves brought out salad and when they’d gone Astoria began again, her tone gentler, clearly trying to reconcile.

“We all do what we can to help the family name. I’m active in society, I’ve already made arrangements to take on more responsibilities at work, and Scorpius has been earning the respect of his teachers, doing extra work at school, befriending a Potter…”

Out of the corner of his eye Scorpius saw Draco look over at him as she said this and knew that she hadn’t shown or discussed the letters that Scorpius had written to her with him. He could feel his father’s mingled sadness and curiosity and focused on his plate. _It’s not like you wrote to me either_ , he thought. 

“I’ll speak to my supervisor about putting in more hours,” said Draco after a moment, “but I’m not going to file an appeal.”

Astoria smiled at him.

“I would appreciate that, thank you, but you’ve said that the department seems resistant to your advancement and I can’t help wondering where all of this ends. Will we be selling the furniture next? The piano?”

Scorpius’s head shot up and he looked between his parents in alarm.

“ _What?_ ”

“Astoria,” Draco said quietly, anger in his voice. 

“Dad you can’t, please-!”

His father turned to him, his expression softening as he met Scorpius’s eyes.

“Scorpius, I promise I won’t sell the piano, alright?”

They stared at each other for a moment and Scorpius nodded. Draco glared at Astoria, who shrugged.

After pudding they followed familiar patterns; Draco went to his study and Astoria and Scorpius went to the ballroom where the piano was kept. This was where his mother was at her happiest, he thought, as she waved her wand to light the chandelier and opened the bench to reveal the meticulously organized books of sheet music.

“I got a new one if you feel up to sight-reading,” she said, handing him a glossy leather-bound folio which he opened eagerly.

“‘Charles-Valentin Alkan’,” he read aloud, then, as he scanned the music, “bloody hell.”

Astoria grinned.

“It’ll be something to grow on, don’t be scared. First we have to warm up and see what the damage is after almost four months of not practicing.”

They sat side by side on the bench as Scorpius went through his scales. It was wonderful to be playing again; he felt himself breathing more easily, listening to the notes in the big empty room and feeling his fingers stretch as they moved over the keys. After scales his mother joined in for their warm-up game in which she switched between different bits of music, playing from memory, and he tried to keep up by playing something complimentary. The challenge and fun of it was creating one seamless piece of music between the two of them and seeing how long they could sustain it. Scorpius could tell at once how rusty he’d become and they’d only played for five minutes before Astoria stopped, both of them laughing as she laced her fingers against the back of her neck and Scorpius hung his head.

“I take it back,” she said, “You don’t need a formal education.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh it’s alright,” she leaned against him briefly, “We knew this might happen. The important thing is that you still want to play. However,” she raised an eyebrow, “maybe we won’t try the Alkan just yet.”

They both got up and she put the new folio back in the bench and instead took out the Mozart book he’d learned the summer before. Scorpius looked at the beautiful grand piano, jet black and gleaming in the candlelight.

“Why won’t Dad file an appeal?” 

Astoria followed his gaze.

“Your father has had most of his pride taken from him and he does what he has to in order to hold on to what’s left.”

“That’s his fault, not ours.”

“Scorpius,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Sorry.”

They sat back down on the bench and started playing again, the music coming to them more easily than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit of a puzzle box. Along with bridging the gap from the last chapter I'm trying for a really tricky dynamic between Astoria, Draco, and Scorpius and it took awhile to find something I was satisfied with. I've discovered that I really _really_ like writing about Malfoy Manor, I just wanna keep adding things to it (an ice house! An orchard! A labyrinth! Hidden passageways!), so I look forward to chapters where I get to go there :)


	15. Conspiracy on the Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the other Slytherins have figured out the trio's scheme and confront them about it on the train back to Hogwarts.

When they met at King’s Cross Albus hugged Scorpius as soon as he was within arms’ reach, clapping him on the back and generally being as happy as if he were Father Christmas in miniature. He smelled like cold air and car fumes and Scorpius wondered if this was how they were going to greet each other from now on. He hoped so, even as he felt his face heat with embarrassment. As before Albus’s entire family seemed to have amassed on the platform and Scorpius saw flickers of amusement and curiosity in their expressions and in the looks they exchanged with each other. Albus’s uncle was frowning a little and James was watching Scorpius with obvious dislike, but soon enough the train whistle was sounding and they were climbing aboard. James shouldered past them down the narrow aisle, knocking into Albus who checked him back at once. They glared at each other for a moment in silence before James turned away and continued down the car.

“What was that about?” Scorpius asked as they took seats across from each other in an empty compartment. Albus rolled his eyes.

“He’s just being a wanker, nothing new.”

Scorpius thought he could guess what that entailed and just as suddenly realized that he knew. The things that James had said about him and his family were so clear that Scorpius could practically hear them. He was starting to recognize this feeling of certainty, like a window being opened in his mind, letting cool fresh air into a stuffy room. It was something he and Robins hadn’t talked about, even though he could tell that she wanted to ask. Eager for a distraction he opened his bag and retrieved the present he’d gotten for Albus, who grinned as though he’d never been given one before and pulled Scorpius’s present out of his own bag. 

“Wow!” he was saying seconds later, his face lighting up at the potion-making kit Scorpius had given him, “That’s wicked, where’d you get it?”

Scorpius smiled.

“I found it at home. I think it’s pretty old, but it still has all the parts.”

“It’s brilliant!” Albus said, opening the carrying case and examining the empty bottles, the tiny drawers with ingredients in paper packets and glass vials. There was even a small silver knife and a mortar carefully wrapped with its pestle in a separate compartment. “Thank you so much,” Albus went on, “Yours seems rubbish now in comparison.”

Assuring him that it wasn’t, Scorpius opened his present. Albus had gotten him a hardback book, its illustrated covers displaying a medieval castle and moat with knights riding horses.

“‘The Once and Future King,’” Scorpius said, reading the spine, “I’ve never heard of it.”

Albus looked a little sheepish.

“It’s a Muggle book. I actually haven’t finished my copy yet but it’s really good so far; it’s about Merlin.” He said this last part more brightly, as though assuring Scorpius that everything was above board. Amused, Scorpius opened the cover.

_To Scorpius, Happy Christmas! From Albus, 2017_

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at the inscription, “I don’t think I have any Muggle books; this’ll be my first.”

Albus beamed and for a second Scorpius wondered if they were about to hug again, but Albus stayed put and they talked about break and the other presents they’d received. After consulting his mother Albus had gotten Candy a scarf and Scorpius had found a magical dictionary in the Manor library that could translate between fifty known languages and ten unknown ones.

“Okay you’re clearly better than me at giving presents,” Albus said, throwing up his hands. Scorpius laughed, privately relieved that Albus hadn’t questioned or seemed to notice the fact that Scorpius hadn’t bought his and Candy’s presents. The subject of his family’s financial difficulties couldn’t be avoided, however, as their conversation turned to the House Elf Representation Act.

“They’re calling it HERA,” Albus said proudly, “My aunt helped write it; we had a party for her when it passed.”

“Are your-I mean, does your family have house elves?”

Albus shook his head.

“My dad used to have one but he died before I was born, old age. I bet you have loads though, what do they think about it?”

Scorpius was still holding the book Albus had given him and looked down at it, trying for a casual smile.

“They were really excited; it took a whole day for all of them to get sent off. We actually ran out of Floo powder and some of them just ended up Disapparating from the grounds.”

“Oh,” Albus hesitated and Scorpius heard the smile leave his voice, “They…they didn’t want to stay?”

Unasked questions seemed to fill the silence between them like spreading wings. Scorpius sat up a little straighter, meeting Albus’s gaze with what he hoped was dignity.

“I think a lot of them would have stayed if we were able to pay them.”

Albus nodded and it was clear that he wasn’t going to pry any further. Deeply grateful for this and suddenly in the uncomfortable position of wanting to vouch for his father, Scorpius went on.

“We’ve always treated them well. At least, I’ve never seen any different.”

What he’d _heard_ about their treatment in the past was another matter, but Albus nodded again at once as though this had never been in doubt. For the first time Scorpius told him the rest; his father’s menial job as a Ministry clerk, the Wizengamont’s total control of their fortune until Scorpius came of age, the Manor falling into disrepair and his parents’ arguments. When he was done they fell into an awkward silence which was, inevitably, broken by Albus. His valiant efforts to lighten the mood paid off because Scorpius wanted them to and by the time the train arrived in Leeds he was happier than he had been in days.

Candy was waiting on the platform with a girl from her study group. Scorpius had noticed that fewer parents and family members seemed to accompany their children to the Leeds station. Most of the students who got on there were Muggleborn and either unable or unwilling to travel to London. Once on the train Candy and her friend separated and she came to sit with Albus and Scorpius. She gave them each a small bag of Christmas cookies that her mother had made and was clearly delighted and touched by their gifts to her. Albus asked questions about her break and what her family did for Christmas and while Candy replied easily Scorpius sensed her guardedness at once and wished he couldn’t. It was clear from what she said (and didn’t say) that money was tight and her father wasn’t around much, and to his credit Albus seemed aware of this as well, letting the conversation move on once it became clear that she didn’t want to say more.

They had just started going over their work schedules for that term when the door to their compartment opened and Marcus and Bernard came in, followed by a second-year Slytherin named Andrew and one of their fifth-year prefects, a black girl named Chloe who was a head taller than all of them and stood in front of the door like a bodyguard after she’d closed it.

“What’s going on?” Albus said lightly to the group at large.

Marcus took half a step forward, folding his arms across his chest. 

“That’s what we came to ask you. We know you’ve been working something with the professors and we want to know what it is.”

Scorpius, Albus, and Candy exchanged glances before Albus looked back at Marcus.

“The other houses can’t know.”

“Why not?” Chloe asked at once with a neutral expression which nevertheless exuded authority.

“We’re trying to win the House Cup,” replied Scorpius simply, watching her, “The teachers are more keen to reward our good behavior because we’re Slytherins.”

The three boys considered this, intrigued and trying not to show it, but Chloe frowned.

“That’s unfair favoritism.”

“Not technically,” Albus said, “It would be unfair if loads of people from different houses were asking for extra credit work and the teachers _only_ gave it to Slytherins. We’re getting the points because we’re the ones who bothered to ask.”

“Which’s why you’re trying to keep it quiet,” said Bernard with a smirk. He was a heavyset boy with a strong West Country accent and shaggy blonde hair, watching Albus with small dark eyes. Chloe’s frown deepened.

“The three of us won’t be able to do it on our own,” Scorpius said, catching her eye, “and it’s only a matter of time before the other houses catch on, especially if more Slytherins join in. But with your help and a good head start we still might be able to win on an even playing field.”

No one said anything for a few moments. Candy looked nervous. Finally Marcus spoke, tilting his head to the side a little as he addressed them.

“What kind of help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been feeling a little intimidated by the size and scope of this story and have been trying to find ways to streamline and keep things brief, but I'm beginning to surrender to the fact that sometimes I just need to listen to the story and let it do what it wants. I think I can end Part One in four more chapters, maybe less, which is exciting because moving on to Part Two will feel like real progress.


	16. The Foreseeable Bludger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Slytherins band together to win House points and a Quidditch game takes an alarming turn.

As second term started Albus felt himself buoyed by a strange giddy anxiety. He was aware of other Slytherins watching him again, of the glances and whispers which meant that their plan was being spread through the house. It also made him feel oddly vulnerable, as though he’d spent months building an elaborate sandcastle and had just issued an open invitation for people to come add their own bits to it. At first it was just the other first years, raising their hands and participating more boldly in class, but within two weeks Albus noticed it in the other years as well. Chloe seemed to have rallied a good number of the upperclassmen including Henry, the other Slytherin prefect and captain of their Quidditch team. 

Candy, Albus, and Scorpius continued to keep to themselves for the most part, but Albus knew that all three of them were aware of an invisible clock ticking. With an increasing number of Slytherins being spotted offering to clean the greenhouses and seeking out extra reading in the library it seemed their scheme would be exposed at any moment. There were plenty of Slytherins with friends and family in other houses; Andrew’s twin sister Ava was in Ravenclaw and Candy was spending as much time with her study group friends as she was with Albus and Scorpius.

In the end they never knew how it got out. On a Tuesday afternoon in late January the three of them were doing homework in the library when Scorpius nudged Albus’s foot under the table, the slightest movement of his head indicating a small group of Gryffindors nearby who were whispering and sneaking indignant glances at them.

“Here we go,” Scorpius muttered, eyes on his work.

Within a day it was a topic of open discussion in the hallways. To their relief most of the students, especially the older ones, seemed to not take it seriously and could hardly be blamed. Anyone looking at the hourglasses would conclude that a Slytherin win might have been close, but now that their scheme was exposed would not stand a chance. However, there were a number of students in each year that had the opposite reaction. Professors were soon being bombarded with praise, offers of help, and requests for extra credit assignments. Some of them, including Gagnon, withdrew completely and refused to grant extra work to anyone for fear of being caught in a conflict. Others, like Hagrid and Devereaux, seemed thrilled by their students’ obsequence and the prospect of academic competition. The first weekend of February found Albus awkwardly shoveling dung and small animal carcasses out of Bumper’s hutch with two sullen third-year Gryffindors while a delighted Hagrid kept bringing them hot chocolate.

Candy’s birthday was on the 22nd and to celebrate they went to watch the match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Candy’s friend from study group had suggested the outing and extended the invitation to Albus and Scorpius. Her name was Claudette, a first-year Hufflepuff with a round dimpled face, honey-blonde hair and small blue eyes. She was friendly and unconcerned to be seen with them, confiding that she thought their efforts to get points were brilliant and that she hoped they would win. It had finally gotten cold enough for snow, but it only fell during the night and melted away as soon as the sun hit it. The day was sunny and cold under a clear blue sky and from the pitch they could see snow glinting on the distant mountain tops. It was the first match Albus had been to that year and he wasn't surprised to see that even though the stands weren’t officially segregated people tended to sit with their own houses. The four of them sat in a reasonably mixed area on the fringe of the Hufflepuff section with a handful of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors.

Even though it wasn't Candy’s first Quidditch game she still jumped a little whenever the players zoomed close to the stands and covered her mouth, wide-eyed, whenever someone got hit by a bludger or survived a particularly dangerous move. Claudette was from a Wizarding family and clearly found this entertaining, holding Candy’s arm and laughing as she reassured her. Although he hadn’t been following Quidditch very closely, Albus knew that Slytherin had been doing well that year. Watching them now he wondered if this was because Quidditch provided an outlet for the anger and resentment they suppressed in the castle. Albus never would have guessed, for example, that Henry was such a fierce player. As a student he was quiet and grudgingly respectful, just like the rest of the Slytherins, but as a Chaser he was lethal, scoring almost every Slytherin goal. Albus could have sworn that the Hufflepuff Keeper flinched whenever Henry flew too near. He was having such a good time watching the game that it took him until the end of the first quarter to realize that Scorpius was bored.

“Don’t like Quidditch?” Albus asked. Scorpius smiled self-consciously and shook his head.

“Not really. You?”

Albus shrugged.

“I like watching it.”

“Does that mean you’re not trying out for the team next year?” Claudette asked loudly, leaning across Candy a little to be heard over the crowd, “I heard your dad was a great Quidditch player!”

“He still is, but my brother James got that.”

“He’s the Gryffindor Seeker, right?”

Albus nodded and Claudette looked sideways at Candy with a grin.

“What?” Albus asked, confused. Candy rolled her eyes.

“She _fancies_ him.”

Claudette’s jaw dropped open comically and both girls started laughing.

“I do not!” she protested, and their overlapping voices and giggles were lost in cheers as Hufflepuff scored a goal. Albus turned to Scorpius, who looked nonplussed. From what they could glean Claudette thought James was cute (“I only said it once!”) but she preferred one of the Hufflepuff Beaters, Cai Blevins. This became apparent in her blush when he hovered near their stand for a few moments during a lull in the game.

Cai Blevins was tall and broad-shouldered with dark auburn hair and long-lashed brown eyes. He looked familiar and it took Albus a minute to remember that he was one of the fifth-year boys who had cornered Scorpius during the first week of school. One look at his friend told him that Scorpius had realized this as well.

“Bloody nose,” the other boy muttered as Blevins flew away.

The game continued, with a few more flybys from Blevins, until all attention was suddenly focused on the Seekers, who were barreling down the pitch, almost locked together in the effort to push each other away. Everyone got to their feet, shouting and cheering, leaning over the sides of the stands to watch. Albus was aware of sound and movement, and then screams a split second later as he was shoved into the people next to him, falling to the floor as a tremendous impact shook the stand with the crunch of shattering wood.

Scorpius was on Albus’s legs, both arms wrapped tight around Candy, and Claudette was standing back from them, covering her mouth with her hands as she stared at the hole that had been blasted through the structure. Most of the pitch was either protesting or cheering Slytherin’s win, unaware of what had happened, and Professor Thorburn had to blow his whistle three times before he was able to call both teams to him. Professor Nejem, the Head of Hufflepuff, Apparated into the box to make sure everyone was alright and Headmistress McGonagall magically amplified her voice to explain what was happening. Scorpius had let go of Candy and the three of them had gotten to their feet as Claudette tiptoed quickly around the damage to throw her arms around Candy in relief.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Albus asked.

Scorpius didn’t answer right away, staring at the broken wood.

“It was a Bludger,” he said quietly.

Albus looked from the hole to the pitch, where Thorburn was interrogating the Beaters from both teams. Cai Blevins was perched on his broom with his arms folded across his chest. Albus couldn’t make out his expression.

“I didn’t even see it,” he said, bewildered, “How did you?”

Scorpius looked at him and then away again, color creeping into his cheeks.

“I saw it,” Candy said. Aside from looking a little pale she was remarkably composed as she disentangled herself from Claudette. “We both did; Scorpius was just quicker.” She took his hand with a small smile, “Thank you.”

Scorpius’s blush deepened and he didn’t respond. Professor Nejem had put a magical barrier around the hole and was now ushering students out of the box. As they made their way down the stairs to the field with everyone else, McGonagall announced that one of the Hufflepuff Beaters had accidentally misjudged their hit and apologized for the mistake.

“Do you think it was really an accident?” Albus muttered to Scorpius so that Candy and Claudette, who were walking in front of them, wouldn’t hear.

“No,” Scorpius replied, “Blevins hit it; I think he was aiming for me.”

Albus shook his head.

“I still can’t believe you saw it.”

Scorpius said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long since I posted, this month has been a little busy (out of state wedding, trying to find a new apartment) but I'm still committed to this fic. Thanks for sticking with me, your kudos and comments are huge motivations :)


	17. Professor Robins' Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius tells Professor Robins about the Bludger and makes a decision.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Robins was watching him expectantly with her hands folded in front of her on the table. Scorpius looked away.

“Not really.”

She smiled gently.

“That probably means you should.”

The sky had been full of churning gunmetal clouds all day; it was only mid-morning and Professor Robins had lit a handful of lanterns around her office to alleviate the gloom. She had the same star-shaped tin lanterns that Scorpius had had in his nursery and he wondered if she knew it. They were still waiting for their tea to cool and Scorpius retrieved his journal from his book bag.

“I still don’t think I’m doing it right.”

“What do you mean?”

He stopped himself from sighing in frustration.

“How am I supposed to tell the difference between _seeing_ something about a person and just making it up?”

She frowned a little.

“Give me an example.”

Scorpius opened his journal and flipped through the pages, scanning what he’d written.

“Ok, like this; last week in Charms Professor Friel was demonstrating a spell and…” he stopped, rolling his eyes, “This is stupid, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Scorpius,” she said patiently, “this skill is about intuition. It’s about understanding and trusting your own mind. In order to do that you need to be willing to let your thoughts go where they want.”

Scorpius sighed and turned back to his journal.

“She was demonstrating a spell and I thought about her…holding a gun. I just-I could picture her somewhere cold. With a gun.”

He felt like an idiot. Professor Friel was a middle-aged woman from Glasgow who wore flowers in her hair every day and had a bowl of cherries on her desk that she tossed out as rewards during class. There was a rumor that she had twelve grandchildren. 

Robins’ expression was unreadable. After a moment she sat back in her chair and cleared her throat.

“First of all,” she said slowly, “you should know that you’re right.”

Scorpius looked up in disbelief.

“What?”

Robins smiled.

“Kathleen, Professor Friel I should say, spent her gap year in Alaska studying with an Inuit shaman and learning how to hunt with his tribe.”

“You’re kidding.”

She laughed a little.

“I’ve seen Kathleen shoot; I can assure you I’m not kidding.”

When he didn’t respond she looked across the table at him and her amusement died away. She’d pinned her hair back into an unruly nest and it made her face look wider, the angles of her jaw and cheekbones more pronounced, her dark brown eyes larger.

“What’s wrong, Scorpius?” she asked.

He looked down at his open book and the lines of diligently neat handwriting blurred a little as tears came to his eyes. The fear he felt was like a living thing deep in his belly, a powerful coiling snake with icy scales. He waited, clenching his teeth until he felt confident that he could speak without crying.

“Did you hear about what happened at the Quidditch game last week?”

“I did. Albus told me about it while he was watering the plants,” he could see a smile in her eyes, “He thinks you hung the moon.”

“I saw the future,” Scorpius said quietly, ignoring this, “Every time Blevins flew past us…it was like he was…sizing it up, and then when the Seekers went after the Snitch…he realized that the game was lost and he wasn’t going to get another chance.”

He stopped, feeling his heart pound against the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t actually believe it, but then…” he fell silent again as words failed him, “I felt it.”

“Felt what?”

Scorpius looked up at her helplessly.

“His _mind_ , like, like it was a train coming at me, thinking about the Bludger and how he was going to hit it, but-” he shivered, “but then I knew more than him. I knew he was going to miss, and that it would hit Candy instead of me.”

Professor Robins didn’t move.

“Albus said that you and Candy both saw the Bludger coming,” she said slowly.

“Candy lied for me,” Scorpius muttered, suddenly feeling exhausted, “Neither of us saw it.”

The delicate crystalline music of raindrops hitting the tower windows made Scorpius wonder if it was going to snow that night. Professor Robins was looking down at the table without really seeing it and for the first time Scorpius thought she looked unsure of herself, her mouth tightening slightly as she considered her words.

“I think,” she began, “that people are capable of tremendous things when someone or something they care about is in danger, not just psychics or wizards, anyone. I can’t tell you that what happened was an anomaly, but I can’t tell you that it wasn’t, either. Do you understand?”

Scorpius looked down at his journal again and then away, closing the book.

“I don’t want any of it.”

“Would you have rather seen Candy get hit by the Bludger?”

He folded his arms across his chest, aware of his own petulance.

“Of course not.”

“Whether you want it or not this gift is yours. You’ll be able to do so much good with it, things that other people can only dream of doing.”

Something in the way she said these last words caught his attention, and as he watched her he realized that she was talking about herself.

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Scorpius could feel it starting to happen again, like a series of doors opening one by one; she was upset by his attitude, wary of his power, and further down, in a place she didn’t want to acknowledge, she was jealous.

Scorpius shook his head and closed his eyes, drawing back from the table a little. Mercifully he felt the doors close and fade away. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

He couldn’t look at her.

“I know,” she said quietly, and he was relieved to hear that her voice had softened, “I helped a little, let you in. Could you feel the difference?”

Scorpius didn’t know what to say. All of it felt wrong. He didn’t want Robins to be upset with him, didn’t want to know her secrets. He wanted to leave and he also wanted to cry again. After another long uncomfortable silence she spoke.

“I’m sorry Scorpius.” 

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and reached up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. 

“My parents died when I was a teenager. It was something that could have been prevented if…if I’d Seen it.”

Scorpius started to apologize and she shook her head, some of the light returning to her eyes although she still looked sad.

“It’s not your fault; none of this is your fault,” she hesitated and he saw that she was blushing a little, “Being a Seer means having a unique responsibility to other people. It’s a burden, and I meant what I said in the beginning. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Without training and practice the Sight will fade eventually; moments of insight will be less frequent, dreams more rare. It’s your choice.”

It was still raining, thin ribbons of water branching across the windows, and the heavy sky made the glow of the lanterns warmer. As Professor Robins waited for his answer Scorpius found himself remembering the dream he’d had during his first week of school. He thought about it more than he would ever admit; the sick dread of being hunted, the cloaked statue, the chaos of noise, and his relief when he realized that he wasn’t alone. 

_We’re going to fight._

He took a deep breath and looked back at Robins, reminding himself of Albus as he lifted his chin.

“I want to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I posted; with work and trying to unpack in my new place it's been harder to carve out time for writing, but I'm hoping to get back in the swing of it. This first part of my A/S fic is almost done! I'm really excited about that, looking forward to Part Two :)


	18. Boys and Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy gets an apology and Albus gets a snowball to the ear.

Candy frowned, glancing from her parchment to her notebook with the familiar feeling that she was about to write the wrong word and took a deep breath. It was something Devereaux encouraged all of them to do, to slow down and steady themselves as soon as they encountered a problem or a moment of doubt, to not wait until the problem became overwhelming. Candy had been working on the Herbology essay for the last three days; reading and rereading the chapter in the textbook until she understood it well enough to summarize, writing the rough draft in her notebook with a pencil, trying to change as many words as she could and rearranging sentences so that she wasn’t copying too much from the book, writing out a final draft in her notebook, and now the worst part, copying the final version in ink onto parchment. She read the sentence in her notebook again.

_In the case of goblin ivy, properly composed fertilizer will affect strong stems and healthy fruit._

Across the table from her Claudette and Nerys were whispering together over their Astronomy homework, stealing glances at a nearby table of Ravenclaw boys and shaking their hair in front of their faces to hide their grins. Both of them tended to work better when there weren’t boys around, although it still wasn’t easy. Claudette was dyslexic and Nerys had a hard time focusing on anything for more than a couple of minutes. 

_…properly composed fertilizer will affect strong stems and healthy fruit._

Candy was still stuck. It was the word “affect” and she was trying to remember what Devereaux had told her about it while working through an assignment the month before. Frustrated, she put down her quill and sat back from the table a little, absentmindedly pulling her hair over one shoulder and separating it into three sections. Claudette and Nerys took this as an opportunity to include her in their conversation, leaning forward to whisper a long story full of hearsay about a particular boy at the other table who had been going out with a Ravenclaw girl but was spotted snogging a Hufflepuff in Hogsmeade the previous weekend. Candy did her best to look interested as she braided her hair, trying not to think about how far behind she was on her homework.

A group of older students entered the library and Claudette automatically stifled a little gasp and ducked her head because Cai Blevins was among them. Nerys and Candy smiled at each other, both amused by her reaction. Nerys was a fellow Slytherin first year, pale and dark where Claudette was rosy and fair, with a long straight nose and a rich family. This last was never mentioned openly, but Candy could tell. There was an ease about people who had always had enough. The fifth years had taken a table on the other side of the room and, surprisingly, Claudette had returned to her schoolwork, sitting up a little straighter and pouring over her equations in a rather lofty way. Nerys arched a dark eyebrow as she picked up her quill and Candy stifled a giggle, reluctantly looking back down at her essay.

_…affect strong stems…_

_Affect. Effect._ The words batted back and forth until her head started to hurt. Unlike some of the other kids in study group, who ended up in panicked tears when their stress became too much, Candy got angry. She could feel it building now and in spite of herself wished that Albus and Scorpius were there. One or both of them would know the right word. Her braid was finished and she secured it with the black elastic she habitually wore around her wrist, turning her head to look at the fifth years as she did. Perhaps sensing this Blevins glanced up at her and she held his gaze a moment before looking away, uninterested. Finally losing patience she picked up her quill, resisting the urge to smash its point against the bottom of her ink bottle, and transcribed the sentence as it was from her notebook. Claudette was still making a show of being the perfect student and Nerys had already lost interest in her work, staring off towards the library windows and the cold bright Saturday afternoon beyond. Candy wrote out the rest of her essay without paying attention to any of it, desperate to finish and willing herself to not splatter the ink. When it was finally done she began putting her things back in her bag while waiting for the parchment to dry and didn’t realize someone was approaching until Nerys kicked her underneath the table.

Cai Blevins was standing over them with his hands in the pockets of his robes, looking like a grown-up compared to the boys in their year. The faint stubble along his jaw was the same coppery brown as his hair and eyes. Claudette and Nerys had frozen, their eyes wide, like deer listening for footsteps in the forest. Blevins smiled a little awkwardly, nodding to Candy.

“You’re Candy Briar, right?”

His voice was deeper than Candy had expected and she nodded, confused.

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize for what happened at the Quidditch game last month. It really was an accident and I hope you didn’t get hurt at all.”

“I didn’t,” she said automatically.

He nodded, his smile widening a little.

“Good. Really something though, that friend of yours pulling you out of the way just in time. He’s not trying out for Quidditch, is he?”

Candy looked away.

“I don’t think so.”

“Glad to hear it. Sorry to interrupt,” he added, nodding to Claudette and Nerys, and once more to Candy, before turning and walking back to his table, hands still in his pockets. Claudette and Nerys stared after him; Claudette’s mouth was hanging open a little. Candy rolled her eyes, trying not to smile as she slid her essay into her bag. Suddenly jolted into action the other two girls swept their books and papers into their own bags so they could trail after her out of the library. 

As soon as the door closed behind them Claudette took Candy by the arm, mouthing “Oh my _God_ ” and steering her towards the girls’ lavatory with Nerys at their heels. 

“Oh my God,” Claudette said again once they were in the deserted room.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Nerys added, holding up her hands to emphasize the point, her fingers spread wide.

Candy laughed at them, half amused and half exasperated.

“What’s the matter with you two?”

Claudette’s round shoulders dropped dramatically, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

“The hottest boy in school walks over and apologizes to you, in person, by _name._ ”

“I wouldn’t say he’s the hottest,” Nerys said thoughtfully, folding her arms.

“That means he _found out your name!_ ”

Candy shrugged.

“So?”

Claudette huffed impatiently and turned away, shaking her head.

“I think Malfoy’s hot,” Nerys said with a sly look at Candy, “and he’s the one who saved your life, after all.”

Candy rolled her eyes and fiddled unnecessarily with the zipper on her book bag. Claudette had turned back to them with her hands on her hips, considering this.

“I don’t think the Bludger would have killed me,” Candy muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Nerys asked, “It punched a hole through the bleachers!”

“Because Cai’s _strong_ ,” added Claudette with a giggle.

Candy laughed even though she was getting tired of the conversation.

“Are we done? ‘Cuz I wasn’t planning on spending the rest of the day in the loo.”

To Candy’s deep relief they parted ways shortly thereafter and she found herself wandering towards one of the courtyards in search of fresh air. Winter seemed to be having one last hurrah; a snow storm had buffeted the castle all through the night, leaving great drifts sweeping through its covered outdoor walkways and stretching up its walls. From beyond the nearest stone archway she heard shouts and bursts of laughter and realized that she recognized the voices. Albus and Scorpius were careening through drifts up to their knees, sopping wet and red-cheeked, having a snowball fight. They’d abandoned their robes and their uniforms were a mess, shirts untucked, ties draggling, their hair matted with chunks of snow. Albus had Scorpius in a one-armed headlock, shoving snow down the back of his shirt while Scorpius howled and tried to push him away, both of them breathless with laughter. As they turned, struggling, Albus looked up and spotted Candy watching them from the archway.

“Candy!” he crowed, “Hi!”

She laughed and Scorpius took advantage of the distraction to break free and stumble away, twisting and jerking in his effort to shake the snow out of his shirt.

“Hi you guys,” she called back.

“Can you believe Scorpius has never been in a snowball fight?!”

Before she could answer Scorpius rallied, slinging a wad of snow that hit Albus in the ear and made him shriek.

“Can’t say that anymore, can I?”

Candy was still laughing as she walked out to them and the boys seemed to call an unspoken truce, taking a step back from each other and brushing snow off of themselves, grinning. Someone called Albus’ name from the walkway on the other side of the courtyard and the three of them turned to see Rose Weasley standing half in the shadows, looking uncomfortable. Albus frowned and made his way over to her, awkwardly tucking his shirt in as he did so, and Rose motioned for him to follow her behind the stone wall where they began to talk quietly. Scorpius wasn’t looking at Candy, his cheeks flushed more from embarrassment than cold now as he tried to tidy himself up. Things had been awkward between them ever since the Bludger incident, especially in those rare moments when Albus was not present.

Since he wasn’t looking at her, Candy looked at him. He was taller than she was, but then most people were, and reminded Candy irresistibly of the aristocratic lords in television costume dramas, the ones who wore stiff pressed clothing and went fox-hunting on horseback when they weren’t sitting on furniture that looked delicate as eggshells. Whenever Candy contemplated Scorpius’ life outside of Hogwarts this was, in fact, exactly what she pictured. His skin looked like it would bruise if it was breathed on too hard and she supposed that he wasn’t ugly. For a moment she considered telling him what Nerys had said, but decided against it. 

“It’s not something everyone can do, is it?” she asked.

Scorpius grew still in the act of straightening his tie and met her gaze carefully. 

“No,” he said after a moment.

“I thought maybe it was,” she smiled, “like a really hard spell or something.”

He smiled back, looking nervous. Candy put her hands in the pockets of her robes and rocked back on her heels a little, feeling the cold wet of the snow seep through her tights.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, relieved.

“You’re my friend,” she said quietly, looking away.

The renewed awkward silence was mercifully broken by Albus crashing through the snow back to them, frowning.

“What was that all about?” Scorpius asked.

Albus waved a hand dismissively but it was clear that he was discomfited.

“There’s rumors in Gryffindor about Slytherins cheating at the extra credit stuff; it’s bollocks.”

He looked at both of them and brightened.

“Lunch?”

Candy and Scorpius nodded and the three of them trudged through the snow back to the shelter of the walkway, where Albus and Scorpius cast drying spells on their own clothes and Candy’s before leading the way to the Great Hall. Walking beside them through the immense ancient castle, the world outside seemed as distant as the moon and Candy felt, as she did almost every day, like a different species.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally wasn't planning on this one. I thought the next chapter was going to be from Albus' perspective, kind of broadly summarizing most of their second term (I wanna end this thing!), and it just wasn't happening. Also wasn't planning to do Candy's POV until a later chapter, but as soon as I thought of giving this chapter to her it started coming to me and I really like it. The Albus/Scorpius snowball fight was something I had kind of given up on, not sure if I'd be able to work it into first year, so I'm glad I found a place for it :)


	19. Birthday Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus turns twelve, meets a ghost, and discovers a secret.

Even though Albus hadn’t witnessed any signs of cheating among his housemates, it became clear that Rose’s warning was not without merit as spring came to Hogwarts. Anti-Slytherin bullying (mostly directed at Scorpius) had dropped off dramatically since fall, but now he could feel a current of animosity in the air again. He and Scorpius had been getting so many dirty looks in the library that they’d started doing most of their homework in the Slytherin common room. Every now and then they heard reports of hallway skirmishes and many Slytherins started walking in groups. Although the upperclassmen seemed largely untouched by the conflict, a handful of fifth years (including Chloe and Henry) had banded together as well.

April brought Albus’ twelfth birthday on the third with a rush of heavily-laden owls at breakfast. Scorpius was too slow to disguise the look of anxiety that crossed his face when he saw them.

“Don’t worry,” Albus said, nudging him with his shoulder as he made room on the table for the owls, “You don’t have to give me anything.”

Scorpius blushed and looked down at his plate, his mouth tightening, and Candy gave Albus a pointed _shut up_ look from across the table. Feeling chastened but unsure of how to respond, Albus gathered up the presents from his parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, deciding to open them later.

“Let’s see then,” Scorpius said, indicating the packages with a small smile.

Albus hesitated but was too excited to resist. Within seconds he was opening the boxes with a cutting spell while Scorpius and Candy cleared away the last of the dishes and food platters from their section of the table. A handful of Slytherins came over to wish Albus a happy birthday as he opened his presents and a few students at other tables could be seen craning their necks, as they did whenever someone got a package. Albus was spectacularly happy, opening boxes of fresh school supplies, candy, the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products, and as always a new book from Aunt Hermione. The cards and letters he pocketed to read in private, pausing to grin at the card that Lily had made. It featured a drawing of a boy in Slytherin robes with a black scribble of hair standing atop a pile of comically pummeled students and lifting a large yellow trophy above his head. The message inside read, _Happy Birthday to my favourite future Dark wizard_ and Lily had inked in a small heart next to her name, which was the closest she ever got to telling someone she loved them. Scorpius and Candy both laughed at the picture and looked slightly discomfited at the message.

“Lily’s kind of weird,” Albus said, beaming.

With less than fifteen minutes before their first class Albus insisted that Scorpius and Candy go on ahead and hurried to bring the presents back to his room. As he went to deposit them on his bed he saw two small boxes already waiting for him, both neatly wrapped in red and gold striped paper. Albus paused and then with a Herculean effort of will turned away, his curiosity trumped only by his fear of losing points for tardiness. At lunch he made up an excuse for his friends and left early so he could open the presents. He knew at once that the first one was from Rose even before he saw the small “To/From” label she’d filled out. It was a modelling kit; the picture on the lid showed an intricately detailed medieval castle. They’d been giving each other Muggle presents for as long as Albus could remember, modelling kits and puzzles in particular, and he felt a great swell of affection for her as he put the kit with his other presents. 

The second box was completely unlabeled and contained a small magical toy, the kind he frequently saw on adults’ work desks. Two male Quidditch players on brooms were suspended in midair above a heavy domed base. The figures were made of metal and brightly enameled from their brown gloves to the whites of their smiling teeth, one of them holding a Quaffle under his arm. Albus set the base of the toy on his dresser and gave it a tap with his wand. At once he could feel a soft thrum of magic and the players began to circle each other, tossing the Quaffle back and forth as they did so. Albus thought it must be from James and guessed that Rose had wrapped it along with hers before asking a house elf to deliver them. He sat and watched it, feeling sadder with every moment. Whenever they’d played Quidditch together in the past James had been relentless, teasing Albus and ganging up on him with their cousins, mocking him when he played well and laughing when he played badly. Albus had quit most of the games in tears until eventually he stopped playing altogether. 

He tapped the base of the toy with his wand again and the friendly Quidditch players passed the Quaffle one more time before going still in the air. The glimpses he caught of his brother through the rest of the week were fewer and farther between, making it clear to Albus that James had no intention of addressing his birthday or taking credit for the present. Feeling gloomy, Albus focused on his schoolwork, on Candy and Scorpius and the other presents he’d received, and by Friday night he could look at the toy on his dresser without feeling his heart sink.

On Saturday morning he woke before dawn, feeling the familiar happiness of possibility as he lay in his bed listening to the other boys sleep. After dressing silently and fishing a book out from under his pillow (he tended to put them under pillows, cushions, and furniture at home as well, which drove his mother to distraction), Albus snuck out into the castle. As usual the corridors were deserted, the classrooms locked, and Albus couldn’t resist cracking open the first window he came to, sticking his nose out and breathing in the sweet, cold morning air as he listened to the birds nesting in the stonework.

He was about to push aside the tapestry to take a shortcut to one of his favorite reading spots on the third floor when he saw the ghost. It was little more than a pearly shimmer at first, like a curling line of smoke in the dim light, but as he paused to look it shifted slightly in his direction and grew clearer. The light around them seemed to coalesce into vaporous forms; the line of an arm, a neck, the side of a face and the luminous glint of an eye.

“Hello,” Albus said tentatively, smiling.

It looked as though the ghost tried to smile back, more of its face forming as it did so. Albus guessed it was a girl, maybe a little older than him, and for a moment he could see a wavy strand of hair and the movement of a long skirt.

“My name’s Albus,” he said, “What’s yours?”

She drew back a little, her image becoming less clear as her almost-smile faded.

“I-sorry,” Albus stammered.

For a moment she stared at him, as though considering something, then drifted a few feet away before pausing to look back. On a hunch Albus took a step forward and she continued on, allowing him to follow her down an adjacent hallway. Albus kept looking over his shoulder even though he didn’t expect to see anyone. The ghost was leading him away from his normal paths, away from his classrooms, and he couldn’t suppress a somewhat illicit thrill. They were venturing into a part of the castle he’d never been in before and Albus was struggling to hold onto his bearings. The locked rooms along these corridors had an air of permanent inaccessibility, and the occasional statue looked surprised at being discovered in its alcove.

In the middle of a particularly long and empty stretch of hallway Albus belatedly realized that the ghost had stopped, almost walking through her. The morning had brightened around them as they walked, making her much more difficult to see, but he could just tell that she was looking down at him. Her hand lifted, gesturing towards the bare stone wall on their right, and as Albus looked the wall seemed to sink in upon itself until he was staring down a corridor into what looked like another wing of the castle. Even though Albus had lived every day of his life surrounded by magic he gasped and took a step back, feeling his hair stand on end. 

“What is that?” he asked the ghost, but she was already moving away from him into the new corridor and gave no sign that she’d heard the question. 

Albus hesitated and stretched out his hand, half-expecting to touch solid stone and shivering when he didn’t. With one final look over his shoulder, feeling decidedly nervous now, he followed the ghost down the corridor. The air was stale, as though the windows hadn’t been opened in years, and everything was covered in dust and cobwebs. Albus couldn’t be sure but the wing seemed older, much older than the rest of Hogwarts although that didn’t seem possible. The floor was made from the same rough stone as the walls rather than the polished wood and marble found in the rest of the castle, and the wall sconces looked primitive, as though they’d been beaten by hand out of iron scraps. The door to every room was either standing open or missing completely, and Albus’ curiosity was rapidly overtaking his fear. Looking out the window he saw the same morning and quickly determined that the stretch of land occupied by the hidden wing was the vast open lawn where they had their flying lessons. The idea that part of the castle had been there the whole time, that he had probably flown _through_ it, was dizzying. 

The ghost seemed to have vanished. As much as he squinted into the shadows he couldn’t find her, or anyone else. The rooms seemed to have been classrooms or offices; most were scattered with tables and chairs in various stages of disrepair. In one he found a smattering of moldy books, all in Latin, along with an ink bottle which had become fastened to the floor as the spilled ink dried around it. There were no statues, portraits, mirrors or tapestries, and the abandoned sparseness of it made the rest of Hogwarts look extravagantly homey and inviting by comparison.

The corridor ended in a circular tower room and as Albus stepped into it he blinked in surprise. An upright piano was standing with its bench against the curving wall between two tall narrow windows. Most of the varnish had been worn away from the chestnut brown wood and the cover screeched loudly as Albus slid it back, but the keys were all present and seemed to have been protected from dust and cobwebs. He pressed one of them experimentally, all of his thoughts suddenly fixed on Scorpius.

Half an hour later he was back in the dormitory. He couldn’t hear any sounds of wakefulness from Marcus, Bernard, or Max and pushed back the curtain of Scorpius’ bed as quietly as he could. Scorpius was asleep on his back with his face turned away, one hand over his stomach and the other stretched out at his side. Feeling a little guilty but mostly excited Albus bent over him and touched his shoulder.

“Scorpius,” he whispered.

The other boy opened his eyes slowly and turned his head, blinking in surprise when he saw Albus, his large eyes dark in the dim torchlight.

“Sorry,” Albus whispered at once.

“What is it?”

Albus grinned. 

“You have to come and see something; I found my birthday present.”

By the time Scorpius had dressed the castle was finally starting to wake, and Albus was on the lookout for early breakfasters as they made their way to the second floor tapestry where he’d seen the ghost. 

“What did she look like?” Scorpius asked, curious now even though sleepiness still lingered around his eyes.

“She had wavy hair and a long skirt but it was kind of hard to tell; she faded in and out, you know?”

Albus led the way, retracing his steps and trying not to think about how disappointing it would be if he couldn’t find the hidden wing again. Scorpius looked doubtful as well but followed gamely, his expression betraying only slight anxiety the further they went. Albus laughed out loud in relief and delight when he spotted the entrance to the corridor ahead of them and picked up his pace to get to it.

“It’s still here!”

Scorpius was at his heels, frowning in confusion.

“It is?”

The hidden wing was stretching out before them, as solid and real as it had been before, but one look at his friend’s face told Albus that Scorpius couldn’t see it. Thinking quickly, Albus took the other boy by the shoulders and positioned him directly in front of the entrance, then tried to mimic the way the ghost had gestured to it.

“The entrance is right here,” he said, tracing its outline in the air with his finger, and Scorpius started, his eyes widening as his mouth fell open.

“Can you see it now?”

Scorpius nodded wordlessly, reaching out his hand as he stepped into the corridor just as Albus had. 

“I wonder if that’s the trick to the spell,” Albus said, “You can only see it if someone shows it to you.”

“Someone who already knows it’s here,” Scorpius added, looking out through a window. He turned back to Albus.

“Why would a ghost show you something that obviously no one’s supposed to know about?”

Albus shrugged happily.

“C’mon, you still haven’t seen the best part.”

When they reached the tower room Albus led the way in, throwing open his arms towards the piano.

“Ta-da!”

Scorpius went still, his face lighting up in a way that Albus had never seen before.

“A piano,” he murmured in disbelief.

“I think it might even work,” Albus said as they walked over to it. Scorpius moved around the instrument, examining it with fascination; inspecting the pedals and opening the top to look at its strings.

“Mum never taught me how to tune one like this,” he said, half to himself, “I can’t imagine that it’s still in tune…” 

Scorpius pushed the bench back and stood at the keyboard, positioning both of his hands and hesitating before playing a beautiful chord that sang out in the empty room. He looked up at Albus with an incredulous smile.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, sitting down on the bench and playing a scale from one end of the keyboard to the other with a speed and ease that took Albus by surprise. Scorpius laughed when he’d finished.

“It must be enchanted to stay in tune; that’s incredible.”

Albus grinned.

“And now that you know it’s here you can come play it whenever you want.”

“Thank you, Albus.”

“You’re welcome,” he hesitated, “I was also thinking…I’d love to hear you play something, if you would. For my birthday?”

The smile slipped from Scorpius’ face and he looked nervous.

“I…okay,” he said, getting to his feet and looking at the piano bench doubtfully before opening its lid. A few moldy fragments of paper were all that remained inside and Scorpius frowned, pursing his lips in thought.

“That’s alright,” he said, closing the bench and sitting back down, “I can play something from memory, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Albus said, delighted and casting about for something to sit on. He found a reasonably sound stool which he brought over and perched upon, sitting up straight and folding his hands in his lap (his parents had taken him to see an orchestra the previous summer). He could tell that Scorpius was trying not to smile at this as he turned his attention to the keys. There was a long moment of silence in which Scorpius brought his hands up, down, and then up again, opening and closing his hands with a look of indecision. Finally he scooted the bench a little closer, sat up straight and began to play. 

Albus didn’t recognize the song; it was delicate and beautiful in a way that he hadn’t been expecting at all, and if Scorpius was making mistakes he couldn’t tell. Albus listened and was reminded of how he had felt when the hidden wing appeared to him, like he was opening a door onto another world. When Scorpius had told him about playing it had been obvious that music meant a lot to him, but now, seeing and hearing it, Albus actually understood. The music slowed, quieting to a whisper, and Albus realized it was going to end a second before it did. 

There was an odd breathless silence in the room. Scorpius was sitting with his hands on his knees, a blush steadily creeping into his cheeks, and Albus suddenly found himself in the grip of a feeling that seemed too large to adequately process. It propelled him to his feet and he sat down on the piano bench next to Scorpius, facing the opposite direction, and hugged him. A second later he felt Scorpius’ arms circle him in return and the other boy leaned into him a little, his chin resting on Albus’ shoulder. Albus smiled and held him tighter. As the moment lengthened he felt he should say something but he didn’t know what and he didn’t want to let go. 

“I’m so glad you’re my friend,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re my friend too,” Scorpius replied quietly after a moment.

Reluctantly Albus let go of him and sat back a little, trying not to be awkward and hoping that Scorpius didn’t feel awkward.

“What was that?”

“Brahms’ _‘Waltz in A Flat Major’_.”

“It was wonderful; you’re _really_ good.”

Scorpius smiled down at his hands, still blushing.

“Thank you,” he said.

Albus nudged him with his shoulder playfully.

“Can I come along and listen even when it’s not my birthday?”

Scorpius nudged him back.

“Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaah I love my boys so much, but this chapter betrayed me a little. I really wanted it to finish up the school year, somehow sweeping from Albus' birthday in April to the final feast and the House Cup award, but it's already longer than usual and the House Cup is what my characters have been working towards all year; I don't want to shortchange the result. Even though I should have already learned my lesson about predicting these things, I'm gonna say 3 more chapters until the end of Part One!


	20. The House Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius' first year at Hogwarts comes to an end with exams, a request from Hagrid, and the tallying of House points.

The end of his first year at Hogwarts was approaching in a rush and Scorpius wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about it. Normally this uncertainty wouldn’t have bothered him but he was running out of pages in the journal that Professor Robins had given him and felt that he should be arriving at a summarizing conclusion of some kind. He supposed that on the whole his experience thus far had been better and worse than expected, with the former making up for the latter. 

As the end of May arrived most of his time outside of class was spent preparing for finals, but at least once a week he found time to sneak up to ‘the secret wing’, as he and Albus referred to it, to play the piano. Upon Scorpius’ request his mother had sent a handful of his favorite sheet music books and he played through each of them with gusto, quickly becoming accustomed to the sound and feel of the battered instrument. Albus had stolen a couple of cushions from the Slytherin common room and used an Engorgement charm to make them the size of small chairs so that he could sit on them and read while Scorpius played. Neither of them had told Candy about any of it (the ghost, the secret wing, the piano), and they had never discussed the omission with each other. Whenever Scorpius began to feel guilty about this he told himself that they would get around to bringing her eventually, and went back to enjoying the fact that it was their secret.

It seemed to be a secret to the rest of the castle as well; they never saw anyone else near the hallway where they’d found the entrance, and whenever one of them asked circuitous questions of a professor as to whether a section of Hogwarts had ever been intentionally hidden they were met with a mystified stare. They’d visited the floors above and below trying to find other entrances to the secret wing, which theoretically must have existed, without luck, leading Albus to conclude that the cloaking enchantments needed to be broken individually. Scorpius could tell that the mystery tugged at his friend, but it had stiff competition in the race for House Cup.

Albus was no longer the only person who spent an inordinate amount of time studying the hourglasses; students from every house were frequently seen contemplating and discussing the ever-shifting gems, and the common consensus seemed to be that the race was too close to call. This was still greeted with indifference by most of the student body but Scorpius could tell that his housemates were excited, even the ones who pretended not to care. Even though he still didn’t want to be a Slytherin, it was hard not to return the smiles of camaraderie which were occasionally sent his way. To no one’s surprise Slytherin won the Quidditch final and Candy had her first butterbeer (smuggled in by a third-year) during the party in the common room afterwards. This was capped by a spontaneous commemorative photo in which Henry pulled Albus, Scorpius, and Candy in to pose with the team, proclaiming loudly that the House Cup was as good as theirs.

During the first week of June all classes, clubs, and teams were suspended, making final exams the sole focus of Hogwarts. The ballroom was cleared out and filled with desks for OWLs and NEWTs, and Madame Sylvestra prowled the crowded library with her wand like a lioness on the hunt, jinxing anyone who disrupted the silence. Although Candy put up a brave front it was clear that her nerves were reaching a breaking point and Scorpius and Albus tried to be as sensitive as they could, talking about other things when she was with them and making neutral comments about finals only when necessary. On Thursday she abruptly got up in the middle of their Latin exam and fled the classroom, leaving her work unfinished on the desk and ignoring Professor Gagnon’s appellate objection. Afterwards, with Nerys’ help, Albus and Scorpius found her crying in the girls’ lavatory and eventually persuaded her to come out, but she refused to tell any of them why she’d gotten so upset. On Friday she sat for their last two exams with obvious apathy, her expression hollow, then skipped dinner and went straight to bed when they were done.

Saturday afternoon found the three of them going to Hagrid’s for a congratulatory tea (he’d sent them lovingly crafted and messy handmade invitations three weeks before) and as always he greeted them with great cheer and bone-crushing hugs. Scorpius was still getting used to these, as well as the effusive joy which accompanied them. Watching Albus and Hagrid interact he had to remind himself that they weren’t actually related by blood; it was difficult to believe that such uncomplicated happiness wasn’t genetic.

“So how’d yer exams go?” Hagrid asked them through a large spoonful of steak and kidney pie.

Scorpius and Albus both glanced at Candy before answering.

“You know,” Albus said with a shrug, “our teachers are all pretty tough.”

“Astronomy was a bear,” Scorpius added, somewhat truthfully.

Candy said nothing but looked up and nodded in agreement with a forced smile, which made Hagrid frown a little. To lighten the mood he told them funny stories of exams past, including one in which a seventh-year Gryffindor boy was found naked in a nest at the top of a forty-foot pine tree in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, having been carried off by a feral harpy in the middle of an exam the week before. By the time they’d finished pudding even Candy was red-cheeked from laughing.

After the four of them had gathered on the front stoop and said goodbye Hagrid put a hand on Scorpius’ shoulder and nodded to Candy and Albus.

“You two go on ahead now.”

“Cheers,” Albus said at once, smiling, but didn’t turn to go until he’d received a nod from Scorpius. The two of them watched Albus and Candy walk down the path back to the castle for a moment in the golden evening light before Hagrid got to one knee next to Scorpius, a significant undertaking, so that they were face to face.

“I’ve been wantin’ ter have a talk with ye,” he said, his expression serious. Scorpius tried not to look worried.

“Okay.”

Hagrid still had a hand on Scorpius’ shoulder and gave it an emphatic squeeze.

“I wanted ter tell yeh that yer a good kid.”

Scorpius blinked, confused by his earnestness.

“Oh, um, thank you.”

Hagrid nodded solemnly, his expression softening a little.

“Wasn’ sure if anyone had told yeh that.”

Feeling simultaneously moved and uncomfortable, Scorpius put a hand on Hagrid’s massive wrist and smiled.

“I-some people have said, but, thank you, Prof-Hagrid.”

The half-giant smiled back and lifted a finger between them, gesturing down the path.

“Now,” he went on, “Yeh hafter help me keep him good.”

“Who? Albus?”

Hagrid nodded again and Scorpius felt as though he’d lost the thread of the conversation completely.

“What do you mean?”

“Jus’ what I said.”

Scorpius tried again.

“What makes you think that he might…not be good?”

Hagrid looked to where Candy and Albus were small figures making their way up the hill, his deep still silence making Scorpius aware of the vast expanse of years between them.

“He’s jus’ startin’ ter find out how things are in the world,” Hagrid said, turning back to Scorpius, “an’ that’s not easy.”

Although this still felt like a profoundly insufficient answer Scorpius agreed to do what he could and Hagrid shook his hand as though they were businessmen closing a deal, then hugged him as though Scorpius was his own child. Later, when Albus asked him what he and Hagrid had talked about, Scorpius didn't hesitate to leave out the second half of the conversation.

Everyone slept in Sunday, except Albus, who seemed physically incapable, and breakfast lasted all morning, buoyed by giddy end-of-term high spirits as people commiserated over their exams and made plans for the summer holidays. Albus was distracted and restless waiting for the evening feast and even though he tried not to Scorpius found himself absorbing his friend’s tension as though through osmosis. When the time finally came Scorpius, Albus, and Candy found themselves walking to the Great Hall with a small crowd of Slytherins including most of the other first years, the Quidditch team, and half a dozen others, all of them looking either excited or steely, as though they were about to enter an arena. 

Scorpius had no appetite, his stomach a twisted knot that recoiled when the food appeared on their table. One look at Albus told him that the other boy felt the same way and both of them ate little. Candy had done her hair, painted her nails green, and was wearing matching sparkly green earrings, looking to the head table eagerly every time a professor stood up. Halfway through dessert Headmistress McGonagall rose from her chair and went to the podium at the head of the dais, the room gradually falling silent as she did so.

“First of all,” she began, “I want to congratulate all of you on completing this year at Hogwarts. To those of you leaving for the last time, you will be greatly missed but we wish you every success as you bring your knowledge and talents to the world. To those of you who joined us this year, you’re part of an ancient tradition now and we look forward to watching you grow. I hope that all of you will continue to bear the torch, to represent the best of Hogwarts and the best of yourselves. And now,” she paused, looking impressive as her gaze swept the room, “it is time to award the House Cup.”

Scorpius fidgeted in his seat and Albus elbowed him excitedly. On Albus’ other side Candy craned her neck, wide-eyed.

“Each of the four houses displayed admirable drive and perseverance this year, and we commend your efforts wholeheartedly,” she cleared her throat and glanced down at the piece of parchment in her hand on the podium, “In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with four hundred and fifteen points, congratulations.”

An enthusiastic cheer went up from the Hall and McGonagall smiled at the Hufflepuffs.

“In third place, Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-two points, congratulations.”

Applause rang out and Albus scooted closer to Scorpius, practically bouncing in his seat. The Slytherins around them were similarly intent. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” Albus whispered.

“In second place,” McGonagall paused, her expression unreadable, “Gryffindor, with four hundred and thirty-seven points.”

She almost had to shout the points because the Hall had erupted into sound. Albus collapsed forward onto the table, laughing, and Candy had covered her mouth with her hands, looking around in shock. Several of the Slytherins jumped to their feet, their arms raised above their heads as they crowed in victory. Even as Scorpius’ heart leapt into his throat he was aware of the opposing reaction from the other tables, mostly Gryffindor, where there were exclamations of disbelief and anger.

“And in first place,” McGonagall bellowed over the noise, “Slytherin, with four hundred and thirty-eight points!”

Albus’ head shot up and he looked at Scorpius, dumbstruck, as every Slytherin jumped to their feet and roared.

“One point,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face, “We won by _one bloody point!_ ”

Scorpius laughed and suddenly they were on their feet too, cheering and clapping with their housemates, many of whom leaned across the table and got up from their seats to pound them on the back and give them high-fives. Almost every teacher stood up and clapped for them as Slytherin banners magically unfurled on the walls. Albus threw his arms around Scorpius’ neck in a fierce hug, turned to hug Candy, then turned back and hugged Scorpius again, laughing helplessly.

“We did it!” Albus was saying, “I can’t believe we actually did it!”

Candy darted around him to hug Scorpius, her usual inhibitions abandoned in the excitement, saying “I can’t believe it either, congratulations!”

The protests from the other houses had gotten louder too; Scorpius could hear shouts of “ _Cheaters!_ ” and “ _DEBS!_ ” cutting through the celebration while McGonagall remained at the podium, a long-suffering expression on her face as she waited for the commotion to die down. In the midst of the chaos Scorpius picked out Hagrid and Robins and Devereaux, all looking exhilarated, but he also spotted James, stone-faced and silent as he watched Albus, and Rose, who looked disappointed and worried.

“Yes, congratulations Slytherin,” McGonagall called out, clearly torn between an obligatory display of pride and distaste at the excesses of emotion, “A remarkable achievement.”

“ _Bollocks!_ ” came a cry from the Gryffindor table.

“Anyone who feels like losing next year’s points early,” she snapped, “is free to be as unsportsmanlike as they choose.”

Having finally quieted the dissenters, the Headmistress sighed wearily.

“We are very proud of all of you, now please go to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! Two more chapters for Part One! And McGonagall is so dope, what a joy to write for her :D  
> Also Hagrid surprised me here; I wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say for the heartwarming bit, and even though I knew that I wanted someone to say something to Scorpius about Albus, I didn't think it would be Hagrid in that moment, but I like it a lot.


	21. A Little Piece of Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy returns home for the summer, has an unexpected visit, and realizes something important.  
> **Note: All _italicized_ dialogue is being spoken in Spanish**

The morning after Slytherin won the House Cup Candy boarded the train back home with a profound sense of detachment. She barely heard anything Albus and Scorpius said, and when they were an hour from the Leeds station she excused herself to go find Claudette, whose parents had offered to bring Candy to York so she could catch a train. They were waiting on the station platform when Candy and Claudette arrived, both of them plump and friendly and excited to meet her, chatting and asking questions as they drove her back north in their little red Volkswagen. 

Although Claudette had said that her family wasn’t rich her mother pressed train fare into Candy’s hands when they reached the York station and was deaf to Candy’s half-hearted protestations. Claudette’s father was set on buying her lunch and only relented when Candy lied and said that she was recovering from a stomach bug. They insisted on accompanying her as she purchased her ticket and all three of them stood on the platform to wave her off. 

It was mid-afternoon by the time the train reached Middlesbrough; Candy had started to drift off and almost missed the stop. Once she had reclaimed her large rolling suitcase she found a payphone and called her mother’s mobile number, praying it was still good. Eréndira answered after the sixth ring and Candy could imagine her scrambling to find the mobile in her purse as it rang.

“Hello?”

“Hola mamá.”

“Candi, mi amor!”

Candy closed her eyes, suddenly feeling as though she might cry.

_“I’m here at the station, just got back. Are we still on Errol Street?”_

_“No,”_ her mother’s voice became sad, like a bird falling from the sky, _“I had to move last month, to Costa Street, near West Lane Hospital.”_

 _“I can find it,”_ Candy said, _“What’s the number on the door?”_

 _“There isn’t one, but the next door is eighty-eight and our stoop is painted pink,”_ she paused, _“I’m so sorry my love; I can call a taxi to come and get you.”_

_“No, it’s okay, I actually have a little money on me, I’ll be there soon.”_

The money left over from her train ticket wasn’t enough for a taxi, so Candy wandered the station until she found a map. The route was fairly simple and after about twenty minutes of walking she found Costa Street, which was narrow with a long solid block of concrete and brick flats on either side. She found the bare door with the pink stoop and after a series of metallic clicks and slides the door opened and her mother appeared, smiling and reaching around her to take the handle of her suitcase and pull it through.

Candy stepped inside, locking the door behind her, and looked around with a strange combination of disappointment and relief. It was no different than any other flat they’d lived in; a fresh coat of white paint on bad walls, rough brown carpet, patchy laminate flooring and unpacked cardboard boxes. Her mother led her up a narrow staircase, pulling the heavy suitcase easily, and brought it to one of the two small bedrooms. In it there was a mattress, a desk, a chair, a small bookcase, and two boxes labeled “Candi” in black marker. The yellow ceramic star lamp on the desk had been hers for as long as Candy could remember, as had the little purple radio plugged in next to her bed, which had been lovingly made with her faded pink sheets and butterfly comforter.

 _“I tried to set it up a little,”_ Eréndira said, gesturing to the desk and the bed with an imploring expression, _“I know you like to unpack your own things.”_

Candy nodded, going to the window which overlooked the backs of the flats on the next street and a series of small fenced-in yards. She turned back. Her mother was standing in the middle of the room with her hands folded in front of her, sad-eyed and smiling. She was wearing purple drawstring shorts and a white tank top with purple stripes, her long black hair pulled up into a messy bun, her skin the glossy caramel brown of a coffee bean, and she looked so lovely that Candy thought her heart might break. 

_“It’s great Mom, thank you.”_

Eréndira was working nights that week and had just enough time to eat dinner with Candy before she had to change into her uniform and leave. Through the front window Candy watched her walk down the sidewalk, half the street bright orange with sunset and the other in cool shadow, then went to the door and locked it, leaving the ones that didn’t use a key so her mother would be able to get back in on her own. Their flats only started to feel like home after Eréndira cooked in them, the smells of tomatoes, onions, and meat diffusing through the small bare rooms, and the first things she ever unpacked were two framed photographs which always ended up on the wall overlooking their table. 

Candy found them now, the larger a portrait of Eréndira with her sisters and mother that had been taken in Mexico. They were standing under a large tree with leafy branches that almost touched the ground behind them. Candy’s mother and her three sisters were barefoot and wearing white dresses with flowers in their hair, while Candy’s grandmother Luella stood behind them in a sky-blue shawl embroidered with flowers, her expression happy and proud. All four girls looked like her, especially Eréndira, who was the second youngest and Candy’s age in the picture. 

The other photograph was smaller and had been taken in England seven years after the first. Eréndira was standing on a beach with the ocean at her back and Candy in her arms, both of them laughing as the cold water splashed their legs. When she was nine Candy had brought the picture to school for show and tell and one of the children in her class had asked if Eréndira was her nanny. There was a third framed photo, of Candy’s parents on their wedding day, but it was always kept in her mother’s room. 

On the coffee table in the living room Candy found the mail, neatly stacked and waiting for her. Taking comfort from the familiarity of the routine she sat on the lumpy threadbare love-seat and separated the pile into junk mail, things she could explain, and the unopened bills that would have to wait until her father could look at them. She went upstairs to her room afterwards and managed to find a clear radio station, pulling what she needed out of her suitcase rather than unpacking it. Closer inspection of the little white desk revealed a scattering of glittery rainbow-colored stickers down the side that must have been put there by the girl who’d owned it before her. Smiling, Candy turned on her star lamp and went to bed.

The next morning Eréndira was already in the kitchen making breakfast when Candy woke up, and gently sidestepped every question she tried to ask about money and work as they ate, her smile fading as she looked down at her coffee. Her responses were ones that Candy had heard her entire life ( _“What’s important is that I have work”, “We’ll be alright”, “It’s not for you to worry about”_ ) and Candy gave up when she felt herself getting angry. The conversation turned to her and Candy was faced with the almost impossible task of answering her mother’s questions about Hogwarts. Halfway through trying to explain what it was like to fly on a broom, Candy suddenly remembered her wand and in a rush of excitement went to retrieve it from her suitcase.

With the exception of a short break to change out of their pajamas, magic occupied the rest of their morning. Candy did every spell she could remember at least five times, just so she could watch her mother’s face go from fear to awe to delight over and over again. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t make one work, or if the spells were laughable compared to what her classmates could do; to Eréndira she was wonderful. Candy had just managed to float a roll of paper towels across the kitchen and into her mother’s outstretched hands when there was a knock at the front door and a man’s voice called through it.

_“Dira? You home?”_

Candy didn’t need the quick look her mother gave her to toss her wand under the love-seat.

 _“Yes!”_ Eréndira called, going to unlock the door.

Joe Briar was not an overly big man but he had great presence, coming into the flat with a slight swagger and a kiss for Eréndira’s cheek. 

“Mi amor,” she said with a smile.

“Mi mujer,” he replied with a wink.

He spotted Candy and his dimpled grin widened as he strode over to her and opened his arms.

“Hiya, _our scholar has returned!_ ”

Candy smiled and went to him, feeling her feet lift off the floor as he hugged her. He was wearing a soft grey T-shirt and she recognized his sweet peppery cologne at once.

_“Hi Dad.”_

He planted a kiss on her forehead as he lowered her back to the ground, passing a hand from the top of her head to his chest and rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Oh bollocks,” he turned back to Eréndira, “ _You promised me I wasn’t shrinkin’!_ ”

Candy’s mother smiled and rolled her eyes; it was his standard joke. With a chuckle he fished into the pocket of his jeans, put both hands behind his back for a moment, and then held out his fists to Candy. Heart sinking, Candy tapped his right hand and it opened to reveal a fiver.

 _“Little welcome home present,”_ he said, “why don’t you go get yourself a treat?”

Candy smiled and thanked him before looking to her mother, who nodded distractedly. It was a muggy overcast day outside and Candy headed towards the Sainsbury’s on the corner that she’d passed the day before. The store’s aggressive air conditioning made her shiver in her t-shirt and cut-off shorts as she scanned the racks of sweets and crisps, ignoring the large swarthy man behind the counter who eyed her warily. As she reached out to examine a chocolate bar it flinched away from her and she withdrew her hand, massaging her fingers and glancing up and down the empty aisle. Whenever she did a lot of spells in a row, as she’d done that morning, she could always feel the magic buzzing in her skin afterwards, setting off little jolts around her like static electricity.

The clock on the wall behind the counter told Candy that she’d only been gone ten minutes and she sighed. Her father expected her to be away for at least an hour. The money was in the pocket of her shorts and she was debating whether or not she would get herself something. Normally she would have lied, telling her father that she’d already eaten her treat, and then given the money to Eréndira after he left, but Candy wasn’t feeling generous at the moment. She bought two ice cream sandwiches and, on impulse, a large oval mood ring from a cardboard display box by the cash register.

Since it was still too early to go back to the flat, she continued retracing her route from the day before and came to a primary school and a large public park. Comforted by the trees and grass she walked its paths until she found an empty bench and sat down, pulling her ice cream out of the plastic Sainsbury’s bag. Once she’d eaten both sandwiches and watched her ring change color three times she went in search of a clock. An elderly man walking a beagle gave her the time after consulting his wristwatch and she gauged that if she walked slowly it would work out.

The front door was unlocked when she got back and she opened it to find her mother at the kitchen sink, washing the breakfast dishes, and Joe sitting on the love-seat in the living room with his back to them. He turned his head to look at her as she came in.

“There’s my little piece of candy,” he said, “What did you get?”

Resisting the urge to glance at her mother Candy walked across the kitchen to him.

“Ice cream sandwiches and a mood ring,” she said, holding up her hand to show it to him.

He nodded with a particular look of admiration seen only on the faces of men who felt they were expected to admire any decorative item presented to them by a female.

“Nice,” he said, then “Come over here and sit a minute.”

Candy walked around the couch and he gestured to the coffee table in front of him, where she sat, noticing that the three stacks of mail she’d made the night before had been reconstituted into one next to him on the sofa. He smiled at her.

“Your mum’s been telling me a bit about your new school, sounds like a fancy place.”

Candy nodded brightly.

“It is, very nice.”

“Up north, right? She wasn’t quite sure where.”

Candy glanced past him to where Eréndira still stood at the sink. She’d changed her clothes and her hair, hanging loose down her back, looked wet.

“It’s in Scotland but I’m not sure where exactly either; it’s not really near anything and all the names up there are really weird.”

Joe laughed, and she could see the cavities in his teeth.

“I bet; when I came by last month and she told me you’d gone off on scholarship I looked around for paper on the place and couldn’t find any, don’t they have brochures or a website or something?”

Candy pretended to think for a moment and then shrugged.

“There was an application but I had to bring it with me to give them. They don’t have a website though; they’re kind of old-fashioned, no computers or mobiles allowed.”

He looked amused, his hazel eyes twinkling a little.

“You sure they know what century it is?”

She giggled.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“So if they don’t have computers what did you learn all year?”

Candy did the best she could, focusing on what she remembered of Astronomy and improvising when he asked about her History, Chemistry, Biology, Grammar, and Composition classes. He listened attentively, smiling and nodding at regular intervals, and she found herself studying his face. It had been over a year since she’d seen him last; he’d come up the previous Christmas with presents for her. Past the tan lines along his neck and upper arms she caught glimpses of his pale skin, and the sight of it made Candy feel uncomfortably suspended; paler than her mother and darker than her father, not quite looking like either of them. 

From across the room Candy could see that her mother had finished the dishes and was now mutely trying to decide what to do with herself, obviously wanting to be nearby even though she couldn’t understand what they were saying. When Joe spoke to Candy in English like this it meant that she was to respond in kind. It was possible, Candy thought, that her mother had picked out the word “school” and was anxious that she might be called upon to back up Candy’s story. After the witch from the Ministry of Magic had found them and explained what Candy was, Eréndira had never fully given her reasons for not wanting Joe to know, and Candy had never felt the need to question her about it. 

Silence had fallen between them in the living room and Candy took the opportunity to change the subject, trying to make her voice light and innocent.

“Why did we have to move?”

Joe’s smile faded a little and he gave her a shrewd look.

“What did your mum say?”

“She didn’t say anything.”

Eréndira’s nervous hovering had brought her to the kitchen table, where she was adding minutes to her mobile from the prepaid cards that Joe always brought her. He smiled.

“That’s because it’s our business; things aren’t always easy but we provide for you, don’t we?” He patted her knee, “Your job is to be a kid and get good schooling so that when the time comes to be a grown-up you’ll be ready,” he held up his hands as though he’d had a great idea, “And this new school of yours sounds like just the place for it!”

Candy smiled and he scooped her off of the table and onto his lap for another hug; Candy watched her ring change from black to green, unable to remember what the colors meant. He left a few minutes later, taking the mail, and Candy looked away as he bent over the table to kiss her mother on his way out. Candy walked with him to wave from the stoop, and once he’d gone she went back inside and locked the door. Eréndira was still sitting at the table, not looking at her.

_“Are you alright, mum?”_

Candy’s mother nodded at once, a little too quickly, and smiled at her as she got up from the table.

_“I am, thank you for asking, but I think I’ll nap for a bit, want to be fresh for my shift. Will you be okay until dinner time?”_

Candy smiled back.

_“Of course.”_

Once her mother had gone upstairs Candy went back to the living room and got down on her hands and knees to find her wand under the love-seat. As she stood looking at the slim wooden instrument, it suddenly occurred to Candy what it meant to have power. A shiver went through her that felt like wings spreading in her chest.

 _When the time comes,_ she thought, _I can be ready._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I totally fell in love with the idea of Candy doing magic for her mom before I remembered the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, but since this is my story I'm gonna say that the Wizengamont loosened up a bit during the intervening years and revised those rules (Lol I want my fluff!)  
> The biggest challenge with this chapter was trying to find the balance between showing and telling, trying to work in exposition and backstory without it becoming too tedious or melodramatic. On a more personal note I was also trying to capture some of the angst of being a kid with less than perfect parents, that delightful blend of love, anger, resentment and helplessness.


	22. Pure Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius turns twelve and his parents reach a crossroads.

As Scorpius had expected Albus’ entire family seemed to be assembled at King’s Cross to welcome home their progeny. He had also expected Albus to sling an arm over his shoulders and loudly announce Slytherin’s win, but was still pleasantly surprised when this actually happened. The adults all seemed genuinely excited and happy for them, while Rose looked uncomfortable and James was halfway across the platform with a group of friends, obviously waiting for Scorpius to leave before he joined his family. Albus’ younger sister Lily had come along and Scorpius was caught off-guard by how much she looked like Albus, red hair and blue eyes notwithstanding. They had the same thin red lips and scattering of pale freckles across their noses; even her voice sounded like a girl version of his as she bounded up to them. 

Astoria was wearing her spring pastels and looked as though she was on holiday in Provence, her hair swept up in a glossy chignon under a straw bergère. She held her hands together in front of her mouth, beaming when she heard about the House Cup, and when they Apparated at the Manor she knelt in front of Scorpius, held his face in her hands, and kissed him on both cheeks. 

“ _Mon doux enfant_ ,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he said, embarrassed and gratified by the uncharacteristic display.

Draco looked as drawn as he had at Christmas, and the poorly disguised happiness and hope on his face when he came to greet them made Scorpius recoil inside. He dutifully recounted the highlights of his second term and Slytherin’s victory for his father, all the while clutching the piece of parchment Albus had given him in his fist, desperate to escape to his rooms. When he finally made it up to his study he sat at his desk and unfolded the paper, rereading the other boy’s address. Looking at the lopsided points and loops he found that he could perfectly picture Albus writing it, from the way he held his quill to the way his head tilted to the side a little every time he paused. 

_Write to me?_ Albus had asked, holding out the paper just after they’d entered London. Scorpius sensed that he’d waited until the end of the journey to ask because he was nervous. He smiled, remembering the look of delight on his friend’s face when Scorpius had promptly written out his own address in return. Having a friend was nothing like what Scorpius had expected; he never would have imagined that he could make someone so happy with so little.

Whether he was flying his broom around the estate, playing the piano, reading, going on errands with his mother, eating, or cleaning his rooms, every activity of Scorpius’ summer was accompanied by his correspondence with Albus, like the central thread in a strand of beads. A corner of his mind was always waiting for a letter, thinking about the letter he had just received, or planning what he would write in response. Albus wrote about living in London, about his Muggle neighbors and the places he went, his family, his parents’ work, what he was reading, and his thoughts about their second year. In comparison Scorpius’ life felt unnaturally vacant, but he did what he could to make his letters interesting. Occasionally the Potter family owl Dobby would bring Albus’ letters, but most often they were brought by Pebble, who quickly made himself at home in Scorpius’ rooms, perching contentedly on his shoulder during long walks through the Manor to get treats from the pantries. 

It was Dobby who brought Scorpius’ birthday present at the beginning of August, flying into his sitting room through the open balcony door while Scorpius was eating breakfast, his claws clutching the thick rough string binding the package. Scorpius gave the owl the rest of his toast in gratitude and opened the present. Beneath the plain brown paper was a second wrapping of birthday paper which was bright blue and covered in multi-colored balloons. Scorpius couldn’t stop smiling; Albus had given him another book, _The Three Musketeers_ , complete with inscription ( _To Scorpius, Happy 12th Birthday! From Albus_ ) and a card. Taking advantage of the fact that Dobby was still eating the rest of his breakfast Scorpius wrote a quick thank you note to send back with him.

“I think we should do something special this year,” Astoria announced at lunch that afternoon, “To celebrate your first year at school.”

The two of them were eating, as they often did during the summer, in the north garden at a table which sat beneath the oldest tree on the estate, a massive heavy-limbed oak whose leaves were so thick that the sunlight couldn’t break through. His mother was smiling but Scorpius could tell from the slight weariness in her eyes that she and his father had already had their yearly argument about whether or not Draco would be accompanying them on Scorpius’ birthday trip. Feeling guilty and uncomfortable, he tried to pull his mind away from hers the way Professor Robins had taught him.

“Like what?” he asked.

She straightened up a little in her chair, brightening.

“We could go somewhere different, maybe Brussels or Calais? Your father and I also agreed that if you want you could get one large present instead of twelve small ones, like a new broom or a pet, a bird of your own maybe?”

Scorpius nodded, considering this. If they went to London there was no chance that his father would be persuaded to come with them, and the Potters were on holiday in Margate. In the end he chose Dublin but Draco still wouldn’t come, waiting until the morning they were to leave before making his apologies. The three of them were in the entrance hall, Scorpius and Astoria ready to depart in their traveling clothes. It was like watching a worm being slowly impaled on a fish hook; his mother stood by the door with her arms folded and her expression neutral while Draco forced himself to stand in front of Scorpius and wish them a safe trip. He never said much when making these withdrawals, as though he knew that there was as little point in lying as there was in telling the truth. Once he’d finished Scorpius gave his standard response, respectful and understanding, and Draco gave him a hollow smile before turning away.

The main entrance point in Dublin was a wizard-owned boarding house near the center of the city, the basement of which had been transformed into a miniature way station with a fireplace connected to the Floo Network and a large empty room for Apparition and Portkey arrivals. Unlike Diagon Alley in London or the Rue Miroir in Paris, the wizarding establishments in Dublin were scattered throughout the city, hidden behind a variety of spells and coded signs. Even when she was frustrated by Draco’s absence Astoria never failed to express her approval of this integration, and Scorpius listened happily as she commented on the new shops that had sprung up since their last visit. 

They had lunch at a Muggle restaurant before going to a wizarding pet shop and owlery that was hidden on a rooftop by the river. Witches and wizards in an odd mixture of Muggle and magical clothing milled about under the hot sun peering into kennels and cages, the voices of young children ringing out in delight or protestation as they tried to touch the animals. Scorpius gravitated to the cages of birds and owls, most of which were either sleeping or haughtily ignoring their admirers, except for a sleek dark hawk at the end of the row that was watching him intently. From the size of the bird Scorpius guessed that he was still young, with brown feathers so dark they were almost black and brick-red gradations around his wing joints and legs. When Scorpius came to stand in front of the cage the hawk moved closer to him on its perch, tilting its head.

“He’s beautiful,” Astoria said, looking at the card attached to the cage, “And it says he’s already had some training,” she nudged Scorpius affectionately, “What do you think?”

Scorpius smiled, looking from her to the hawk.

“I already know what I want to name him.”

 

Scorpius regretted the fact that the Manor wasn’t connected to the Floo Network as they made their way back to the boarding house empty-handed. The hawk was to be shipped to the Manor separately, side-along Apparition being too much for small animals, but his mother gave him the receipt and talked enthusiastically about falconry and her pride in his decision to take on such a grown-up responsibility. In spite of Astoria’s best efforts however, Scorpius could feel her spirits dim the closer they got to home. 

His birthday tea was the typical belabored affair in the formal dining room, with Mouse bustling about in an effort to serve the three of them by herself until Draco got up to help her, a gesture which Scorpius guessed was motivated primarily by his desire to avoid them. After dinner they went into the formal sitting room where Mouse brought them cake and brandy, a small measure for Scorpius and larger ones for his parents, and he was grateful for it as the tension built between them. 

Astoria and Draco were standing on opposite sides of the room, the light of the setting sun casting an amber glow over the leather chairs and the gilded frames of the large oil paintings on the walls. It was a deeply familiar sight that came to his mind whenever he thought about his parents; a man and a woman standing in opposition. It was clear that his mother was reaching her limit on silence and the unhappiness etched into every line of Draco’s face made Scorpius’ chest ache. His father looked away from Astoria’s unyielding gaze and addressed him quietly.

“Scorpius, would you excuse us please?”

Scorpius rose from his chair and left the room, making sure his footsteps sounded down the entire length of the central hallway towards the stairs which led to his wing before darting into the ballroom and from there into the narrow house-elf passages which ran through the house like veins. He moved quickly through the walls until he began to hear his parents’ voices again then slowed down, watching the darkness ahead of him as his fingertips followed the rough stone sides of the passage. A thin seam of flickering golden light appeared along the floor ahead of him, marking the opening into the sitting room which was hidden behind a large tapestry. He stood as far back from it as he dared while still being able to hear them. 

“He doesn’t seem to mind my absence.”

Draco sounded close; Scorpius imagined him standing in front of the painting which was near the tapestry, a portrait of Scorpius’s grandfather as a child, dressed up like a prince in the Manor library with his white blonde hair in loose curls around his stoic face. 

“Well I mind it Draco, does that ever occur to you?”

From the distance of her voice Scorpius guessed that his mother was still standing next to the fireplace with her arms folded across her chest, a challenge in her large dark eyes. When his father did not answer she continued.

“How are we supposed to find a community and our place in it if you won’t even attempt to make an effort?”

“I am making an effort, Astoria. Do you think I enjoy going to the Ministry every day? They call it a job and they act as though their graciousness and mercy should compel me to weep with gratitude, but it’s nothing but a daily humiliation, a reminder that I will never be more than what I am now.”

His father never yelled during these arguments, but the cold self-loathing in his voice was more than enough to make Scorpius flinch. Astoria must have felt it too because she sounded gentler when she replied.

“You’re the only thing holding you back and you know it. If you feel oppressed by these people find new people; where is it written that we must live and die in Wiltshire? How many times has my uncle offered to use his contacts to-?”

Draco chuckled mirthlessly.

“‘His contacts’, I can only imagine.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

There was a pause.

“Astoria, you know where he’s been going and with whom, you know what he believes.”

The only sound that could be heard was the quiet crackling of the fire, the occasional pop of wood collapsing in the heat. They were silent so long that for one panicked moment Scorpius thought perhaps they had realized he was there and were about to pull aside the tapestry. When his mother finally spoke her voice was strange, bold and vulnerable at the same time.

“I know. I believe it too.”

There was a creak of floorboards close by, as though Draco had shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

“What?”

“I have for a long time, long before I met you.”

Another silence.

“You…you can’t be serious,” Draco sounded stunned, “After everything that happened in the war?”

“How dare you compare me to that? I am not a Death Eater, Draco, I never was. The war was a travesty, a perversion led by a genocidal tyrant who had no comprehension of true magic. If you would just listen to what we have to say you would understand.”

Scorpius frowned. He had no idea what they were talking about or why every word felt dangerous and weighted. His father remained silent and Astoria went on, her tone entreating.

“Draco, your family lines are legendary; ancient houses with centuries of magical history, an invaluable wealth of knowledge, tradition, and power. You’ve lost sight of the man you were meant to be, but it’s all still there,” her footsteps were coming closer, to where Draco had to be standing, “Please let me help you find it again.”

“Astoria...what are you saying?”

The restrained fear in his father’s voice was alarming. Scorpius pictured them standing face to face.

“That you don’t need to spend the rest of your life feeling trapped by this place, by the past. We can move on; you, me, and Scorpius.”

There was another long pause. Scorpius’ heartbeat reverberated like a church bell in his ears as he willed himself to be motionless. 

“I can’t do that,” Draco said.

“Of course you can.”

“Maybe I could, but I’m not going to. And neither is Scorpius.”

His parents’ sadness, fear, and anger settled over him one by one like blankets until Scorpius began to feel suffocated, and although he knew he shouldn’t he felt himself reaching out with his mind for more.

“He’s my son,” Astoria said, her voice quiet and hard.

“And I’m his father. You’re going to leave him out of this.”

There was another pause.

“Is this what you really wanted all along, Astoria? Merlin knows I didn’t have much to recommend me when we first met.”

Scorpius could feel the pain in his father’s voice like a wound on his own body and fought back a sob.

“Nothing but my name and my blood.”

Scorpius turned and ran silently, blindly back through the passages. He knew what was going to happen next. His mother was going to step away from his father, reduced to silence by the depths of her anger, and then she was going to turn and leave the room. She was going to say goodnight to her son, and he would have to run like hell if he was going to beat her there. 

If it weren’t for the house-elf passages he would have had to cross the hall to get to the staircase and would most certainly have been spotted, but on the far side of the ballroom was a hidden spiral staircase, the most narrow and treacherous in the house, which led up to his rooms. Scorpius scrambled up the steps as though they were a ladder and pushed open the hidden door at the top, bursting into his study and grabbing the first book he spotted off of his desk. Taking out his wand as he ran he lit the lamps in his room and threw himself onto his bed, which was where his mother found him less than two minutes later lying quietly on his stomach, absorbed in his book.

She gave his door a small polite knock as she came in and it chilled Scorpius to think that if he hadn’t been spying on them he would never have guessed that something calamitous had happened between his parents. Astoria was smiling with her hands folded in front of her, a gesture which struck him as oddly deferential, and walked over to his bed.

“I just wanted to say goodnight before I turn in.”

He tried to look innocent and unconcerned.

“Goodnight.”

“I hope you had a lovely birthday.”

He smiled.

“I did, thanks Mum.”

There was a brief flicker of sadness in her eyes and he could tell that she wanted to reach out and touch him, but her hands remained folded and she nodded, smiling at him again before turning to go. As the door closed with a hush behind her Scorpius looked down at the book opened in front of him, registering it properly for the first time. _The Auger’s Raven_. Suddenly exhausted and close to tears he pushed the book away and it fell off of his bed with a thud. He buried his face in his arms and wished that Draco would come and find him, but it wasn’t until the next morning that someone knocked on his door.

“What?” he groaned, not bothering to open his eyes.

The door opened.

“Scorpius?”

Scorpius’ head shot up; his father hadn’t come up to his rooms all summer. Draco’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and Scorpius was struck by the terrible idea that his father had been crying. Scorpius sat up, realizing as he looked down at himself that he’d slept in the previous day’s clothes. From the looks of him Draco hadn’t slept at all. He was standing at the foot of the bed holding onto the post as though for support.

“Scorpius,” he began, looking at a spot on the bedspread near Scorpius’ left knee, “I just came to tell you that your mother’s gone to visit your grandmother. She says not to worry, no one’s ill.”

They were both quiet as Scorpius absorbed this.

“When will she be back?”

A frown line appeared between his father’s eyebrows.

“She’s not sure yet, but she’ll let us know as soon as she can.”

Scorpius looked down to where his hands lay curled together in his lap.

“Are you getting a divorce?”

There was a moment of silence in which he could feel his father watching him but couldn’t bring himself to look up.

“Yes,” Draco said quietly.

Scorpius nodded, bewildered and afraid. Before he could think of something to say his father sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Scorpius to him. When he returned the hug Draco’s arms tightened around him and Scorpius closed his eyes. They sat together for several moments before Draco released him and Scorpius let go reluctantly, trying not to cry. Draco remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands braced on his knees. The morning sunlight made the stubble along his jaw look white, glinting like the tiniest shards of broken glass, the ones you never saw until they snagged in your skin when you ran your fingertips over the counter-top. Scorpius glanced down to where _The Augur’s Raven_ lay on the ancient Indian rug.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“My Divination teacher says that I have Second Sight.”

Draco blinked in surprise and turned to look at him with the hint of a smile.

“Do you?”

Scorpius hesitated, half-wishing that he hadn’t said anything. He shrugged.

“I did a bunch of extra credit work this year and met with her a few times for private lessons.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Scorpius swallowed.

“I do. I have it.” 

Draco stared at him and suddenly looked as sad as Scorpius had ever seen him, his smile fading. He looked away, then, seeming to catch himself, reached back and put his hand on Scorpius’s knee.

“Promise me one thing?”

“Okay.”

“Promise you’ll never tell me the future.”

He squeezed Scorpius’s knee and stood up slowly, as though his body was heavy, as though it ached, and walked out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

_I promise_ , Scorpius thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo Part 1 is finished! I'm so excited for Part 2, I'll try to get the first chapter up as soon as I can, thank you so much for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a few years now and am hoping that posting online will give me the extra push I need to eventually finish it. For my own sanity I've decided to only follow Albus and Scorpius to the middle of their fifth year at Hogwarts and have already written decent chunks of each year. I feel like I have a pretty firm grasp on the story as a whole but there is certainly plenty of room for it to surprise me. 
> 
> For years I was a die-hard Harry/Draco shipper (still am, OTP represent), but when I started thinking about Albus and Scorpius I discovered that they were the ones I really wanted to write for. I admit that they've supplanted H/D a little bit in my heart, and hopefully I'll do right by them :)


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